Nocthorrifica
by Sezstar
Summary: A mentally and physically scarred aurora arrives at Hogwarts, but not to teach. This story is about life, love, death and redemption. It isn't pleasent but is splashed with hope, now and again anyway! First in the planned Nocthorrifica trilogy. Snape/OC
1. 1) June

Chapter One  
  
It was too hot for June.  
  
The heat lay on the industrial estate, suffocating anything unfortunate enough to be there.  
  
The pigeon shook itself and cooed softly in the shade of a tree. The noise died in the thick air.  
  
The pigeon hoped that it could stay in the shade of the tree till nightime, when it would hopefully be cooler. In the meantime it watched the activity below.  
  
But it was too hot for much activity. The cars slunk down the roads like shimmering, glaring slugs. The people unfortunate to be out dragged their feet and sweated, the moisture evaporating instantly in the air, that was almost too oppressive to breath.  
  
If the pigeon hadn't been trying to dose, it would of noticed a convoy of low-slung black cars creep into the car park of one of the corrugated iron warehouses. If the pigeon had been paying attention it would of noticed the car doors opening and slamming shut. Most of the people getting out were men, and they were all drooping in the heat. They were dressed in long coats, completely inappropriate for the stifling temperature. A chorus of curses and anger at leaving the air-conditioned cars drifted up to the pigeon.  
  
A very tall man who moved like an eel was arguing with the apparent leader, a man with pale blonde hair that shone damply in the Sun.  
  
The other figures in the long coats moved round the building, and were lost to sight in the heat haze.  
  
After about half an hour the cars slunk away, carrying their cargo with them. In the heat of midday all the office workers hid in their offices and no one saw them go.  
  
About twenty minuets later the pigeon was woken by a rustling in the tree. It panicked, flapping it wings and leapt out cooing frantically as it fled from the hawk now perched in the branches.  
  
If coherent thoughts could pass through it's tiny pigeon brain it would of realised the hawk was a red kite. Very rare in the heat smothered South of England.  
  
The hawk was also far too hot and desperately needed a drink, but it didn't leave the tree. It seemed to be waiting for something.  
  
The afternoon dragged on interminably. The hawk watched the Sun to measure the time, but the glare hurt it's sensitive eyes. At about five o'clock the brightly coloured slugs began to rush out of the estate. A bus crawled past, holding up the rest of the angry traffic. By seven the park was completely empty.  
  
If the hawk had hoped the evening would bring respite from the heat it was wrong, the heat still drowned the empty offices and warehouses. The hawk clung to its branch.  
  
At nine something very odd seemed to be happening. Around the warehouse people in black cloaks and masks seemed to be appearing in the heavy air. The didn't speak to each other but moved rapidly to the warehouse and slipped inside. The hawk was alert now and staring fixedly at the corrugated iron box.  
  
Half and hour later more people appeared. They were dressed normally and seemed to be trying to keep out of sight in the few, limp trees.  
  
On seeing them the hawk leapt from it's tree and seemed to shimmer and change. Where it had been stood a tall young woman with rich, dark red hair.  
  
A man approached her with a bottle of water which she gulped down frantically. They had a brief conversation and then the strangers began to creep towards the warehouse.  
  
What happened next was confusing and strange. One of the men banged on the main door of the warehouse and proceeded to argue with the a figure from inside. The red haired girl led the rest round the back.  
  
The argument at the front seemed to be getting more heated.  
  
Then, suddenly, what looked like fireworks started to go off in the darkness. Jets of coloured light sliced through the air, smashing the windows, and screams echoed in the still, hot night.  
  
The man at the front of the building was now curled up on the floor, coughing up gouts of blood. He was bleeding his life away onto the dusty tarmac.  
  
A woman ran through the open doors and leapt over the dying man. The red haired girl followed, but tripped on the man. As she tripped she yelled,  
  
"Stupify!"  
  
But tripping up had spoiled her aim and she completely misfired.  
  
The other woman turned, laughed and called out,  
  
"Nocthorrifica!"  
  
The red haired girl froze for a second and then fell to the floor screaming and tearing at her arms as she was plunged into her worst nightmare. 


	2. 2) August

1 Disclaimer – I don't own any of these people. Apart from the doctor. And anyone is welcome to him! I am making no money.  
  
2 ********************************************  
  
3  
  
4 Chapter 2  
  
It was August and still too hot. Remus Lupin squirmed in the deep chair in Dumbledore's office and wished he'd worn a thinner robe.  
  
There was a cooling charm in the office, but the doctor from St. Mungo's was still sweating heavily. Lupin could practically see the beads of sweat forming on his pink, bald head. He could certainly smell them.  
  
"…She really is the most uncooperative patient I've ever dealt with! She seems determined to prove we are incompetent!"  
  
Lupin groaned to himself and said,  
  
"That's because she thinks you are, and because she is bored."  
  
The doctor ignored him and turned to face Dumbledore.  
  
"She can't stay at St. Mungo's. However I also do not advise she returns to her job as an auror. She'd far too fragile, both mentally and physically."  
  
Lupin sat bolt upright,  
  
"You are going to tell Faith to do nothing? She'll go insane! She will feel incredibly useless and go insane."  
  
"She needs rest. She also needs a psychiatrist, but seeing as she constantly refuses one…"  
  
Lupin snorted. "Faith doesn't know how to rest. She'll just drink herself into a stupor before the week is out.  
  
"Albus," he turned to Dumbledore. "You know what happened last time we tried to inflict rest on her…"  
  
The doctor spoke over him, saying loudly,  
  
"Her drinking is also a problem. It interferes with her treatment. Mind you I think she drinks too much anyway!"  
  
"She suffered the Nocthorrifica curse and you won't give her dreamless sleep potion! She lived in her worst nightmares for three weeks!"  
  
The doctor glared at Lupin in exasperation and threw up his hands.  
  
"Fine. She can't stay at St. Mungo's because we need the bed. She can't live on her own uncase she has another attack, drinks herself to death or commits suicide. She doesn't have the strength to work, especially as an auror, but will go even crazier if she rests. Bloody great!"  
  
Dumbledore sighed, he felt absolutely drained, there was a definite edge in his voice as he spoke.  
  
"Faith could come here. Then she can do relatively undemanding work, but still be useful in the War. She will be surrounded by people who will watch out for her. Does this meet with everyone's approval?"  
  
Lupin stared in shock.  
  
"Faith would make a terrible teacher Albus!"  
  
"She wouldn't be a teacher." Dumbledore said, gritting his teeth and trying to be patient. "I need an assistant in this War. There is so much to do and I only have so much time.  
  
"I need an assistant, and Faith needs help whether she wants it or not."  
  
Lupin still didn't feel convinced.  
  
"She hated it here Albus. Really hated it."  
  
"I rather gather she hates most places and most people. You have to admit she treats everything with equality!"  
  
The doctor snorted at this, and Lupin sighed,  
  
"You want me to persuade her don't you?"  
  
Dumbledore stared at him down his nose,  
  
"You were her partner for nine months, she trusts you, and likes you. She listens to you."  
  
"She doesn't listen to me."  
  
"More than she listens to most people."  
  
The doctor smiled thinly and stood up.  
  
"Well if that's settled I need to get going and catch up on old times with Poppy. We trained together you know…"  
  
He paused at the door and turned to Lupin, and said,  
  
"You worked with Faith for nine months? You poor sod."  
  
Lupin watched in disgust as he waddled out of the room, taking the sharp smell of sweat with him.  
  
He then turned to Dumbledore who was fanning himself and staring blankly out of the window.  
  
"You feel you failed her last time don't you?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"You feel you failed her. Albus it wasn't you, it was her damn father!"  
  
"Just persuade her Remus." 


	3. 3) Journey

I only own Faith. Nothing else in this chapter! JKR has everything else!  
  
1 Chapter 3  
  
Faith Llewllyn sat in her carriage on the Hogwarts Express and wished she was somewhere else. When the baby started bawling, absolutely anywhere else. Even her white washed room at St. Mungo's would at least have been quieter. She'd been far enough away from the lunatics and lost causes to not have to listen to them scream.  
  
The Hogwarts Express actually ran all year round. Taking witches and wizards who couldn't apperated for whatever reason, from London to Hogsmeade.  
  
This seemed to be mostly families with crying children, and people like Faith who had been "advised against apparition" until she was stronger. She had wanted to hit the patronising doctor in the face as he said that. His big, pink, fleshy face had always vaguely reminded her of joints of bacon.  
  
He had never tired of reminding her of just how weak she was. She gritted her teeth as she remembered his almost daily lecture about the Nocthorrifica curse. Victims generally went so insane they died, frequently of self inflicted wounds. She clenched her teeth, as if she needed telling about how unpleasant the curse was. Faith thought that if one more person told her she was lucky to be alive she would rip their throat out. The majority of people who said that clearly had no conception of just what her worst nightmares were.  
  
She shivered and watched the Scottish countryside stream past. There was still about an hour until they got to Hogsmeade and she had read all the newspapers and magazines she had. Her books were packed in her trunk. And she was bored of fiddling with her thick, red hair. There was nothing to do but think, and she didn't like to think aimlessly. It meant her thoughts returned to the past.  
  
The first time she had come to Hogwarts she had been fifteen. Her father had wanted her near him at all times, and it had taken Dumbledore a long time to persuade him to let her go there at all.  
  
She still couldn't decide whether the two years had been worth it.  
  
She had made an appalling Gryffindor. For hundreds of years the Sorting Hat had been sorting eleven year olds with personalities that were relatively unshaped. Faced with a very powerful fifteen year old, who had formed her personality away from Hogwarts, it hadn't really had a clue what to do with her.  
  
She had always used her cunning and intelligence to achieve anything, had been taught that since she could walk. But at fifteen she had suffered from such intense depression that she had no ambition at all. The Hat had thought she should be in Slytherin, apart from this major fault. It had decided that her fight to get through every damn day constituted bravery and decided on Gryffindor.  
  
It wasn't surprising she had been an outcast. She hadn't thought like a Gryffindor. Their 'dare devil' attitude had driven her mad.  
  
The Sun was still so hot, and Faith closed her eyes to try and tune out the memories and the sobbing baby. Bloody brat, she hated children. She would not even admit to herself that this was jealousy of their innocence.  
  
There was a coach at Hogsmeade Station. Before she got in her eyes flicked to a couple embracing on the platform. They didn't seem particularly happy to see each other, just desperately relieved.  
  
Faith sat down rather gingerly on the stuffed seat, and pulled down the window to feel the air on her face. She watched the couple as the coach pulled away. There could be no pure happiness now. No pure love. The terror Voldemort had brought meant no pure emotion could exist. Happiness was spoilt by the knowledge it was probably temporary. Love by the constant fear and terror that every kiss could be the last. Even sex was generally tainted by the desperation and the awareness that warm flesh around you could by cold and bloodstained tomorrow.  
  
Faith shivered despite the heat.  
  
She was glad she had no lover, and few friends, to care about.  
  
  
  
A.N. The paragraph about no emotions being pure was inspired by George Orwell's 1984. Don't sue me, just buy that damn book! 


	4. 4) Arriving

I only own Faith, I am making no money.  
  
  
  
1 Chapter 4  
  
Faith was almost sick with nerves by the time she reached the castle. Remus had told her which of the teachers who had taught her were still there. She was arrogant enough to assume she wouldn't be cowed by any of them, but seeing Snape again worried her more than she cared to admit.  
  
There had been, that night, on the tower. An experience she really wanted to just forget, like he probably had. She drew nervously on the door handle with her finger nail. He almost certainly hadn't remembered and probably didn't even remember her at all. She pushed the memory of the moon reflecting in his cold black eyes to the back of her mind.  
  
However she did know far more about Snape than he knew about her and that was vaguely comforting. She knew far more than she wanted to in all honesty. Thanks to her fucking father… Faith allowed herself a rare smile. If he knew she was returning to Hogwarts he would be turning in his grave. Hopefully painfully.  
  
She hesitated as she stepped down from the carriage. She really didn't know how to do this. How to live with so many people, how to interact and be polite to people on a daily basis. Her stomach was in knots, this was a terrible idea, it had always been a terrible idea, there just didn't seem to be a better one. She desperately needed a drink.  
  
But then her belongings were being spirited away and Dumbledore was greeting her. He talked at her about her journey, the people here, how to set the password to her room. Oh, and by the way, come and meet everyone in the staff room when you are ready.  
  
The evening in the staff room was a blur for her. There had been all the handshakes, some limp and damp, some firm and hard. Then there was the whirl of different coloured eyes, far too many of which were deeply sympathetic. Watery blue eyes, piercing blacks ones, soft brown and cold green, by the end of the evening they had all blurred into one.  
  
There had been the list of rules. The things she could not do and the things she really should do. The rules that applied to her and the things there were no rules for but she really shouldn't do anyway. She kept her face frozen and inexpressive throughout.  
  
There had been conversation she was on the edge of, about the arrival of the pupils in two weeks, the interminable heat, the death toll, the increasing militancy of the Death Eaters. Faith's head was throbbing and she was overwhelmed by them at the end of the evening.  
  
Eventually she escaped to her room and leant against the stone wall, gulping down drafts of air. She hadn't been around so many talkative people for so long. She needed a drink, desperately needed a drink. At least she hadn't really had to speak to Snape. He had only met her eyes briefly, in what may have been a look of fellow feeling.  
  
She stripped off her robes, she rarely wore them, and in this heat they were intolerable. Dressed only in a black silk nightdress she lifted a bag from the pile of baggage on the floor and unpacked the bottles inside.  
  
A bottle of vodka that had been relatively cheap, and brought for the intention of knocking her brains out of her skull. A cure for the nightmares that don't only come at night. A bottle of very expensive whisky, that would need to be savoured. She sighed, she loved whisky and its dark peaty taste, it could lead to a quiet and comfortable oblivion. She languidly traced her fingers down the bottles, but decided against them for tonight. There was too high a chance some well meaning person would come and see how she was settling in. She shuddered and picked up one of the four bottles of wine. There were red. Dark blood red that could fill her nose and mouth and intoxicate all her senses.  
  
She raised the bottle up to the moonlight and moaned softly. Shaking her head she picked a glass from the cabinet. The glasses all revolted her. They were ornate, gold covered, goblets that looked expensive and very hideous. She was surprised to see they were virtually identical to the ones the Malfoys had.  
  
Faith sighed, thinking she was ruining the wine by using these ugly glasses for it. She was a wine connoisseur with very expensive tastes. One of the hangovers from the pureblood heritage she rather wanted to forget.  
  
She fell into a chair and began sipping the wine, staring out at the stars. She didn't bother to light the candles. She let the darkness cover her, she felt much safer in the dark, it was easier to be alone.  
  
If it was possible to sit on the window ledge you would see a pale, thin girl with huge eyes that look far older than her twenty five years. You would see her sprawled and vulnerable in a chair far too big for her. You would see a room that could be cheerful, but she is determined not to make it her own. You would see the darkness that arrived with the girl hiding the corners of the room and edging towards her. It is only kept in check by the wine.  
  
You would see the absence of feeling. You would see the isolation. 


	5. 5) Hangover

These characters are all owned by J. K. Rowling. I however came up with the plot!  
  
To clear up a query in a review, Snape was teaching at Hogwarts when Faith attended there. She knows Lupin because they were paired up to work together. The word "partner" was meant in the sense that they were colleagues. I have made some edits in the text to make that clearer. Thank you for your reviews! They really encouraged me!  
  
I'm afraid the next few chapters aren't going to be all that sinister though, scene setting I'm afraid! It will get sinister again soon though!  
  
If anyone reading this would like to beta this fic then please email me. I'm very well aware I need a beta reader and would be eternally grateful!  
  
  
  
1 Chapter 5  
  
Snape rolled over and buried his head in the pillow. He really wandered why he did this to himself. His head felt like it was being slowly squeezed, and his mouth tasted like some small animal had pissed in it. He groaned as he tried to shut out the waves of nausea.  
  
  
  
Every morning he woke up like this he promised himself he wouldn't drink so much in the evening. And over and over again he broke the promise.  
  
  
  
Not daring to open his eyes he groped on the bed side table for his wand, and hissed through gritted teeth,  
  
  
  
"Accio soother."  
  
  
  
The little bottle flew towards him and he reluctantly sipped the icy green mixture. He groaned as he rolled over onto his back. He could feel the ice cold potion slide through his veins, neutralising the toxins in his blood.  
  
  
  
Less than two weeks till the students arrived. The date was scarred onto his mind, every morning brought it closer. He really hated mornings.  
  
  
  
As the potion eased through him, he wandered what the students would make of Faith Llewllyn stalking about, she planned to ignore them all though.  
  
  
  
He sighed, the woman was as cold and unemotional as the child they had taught, although she hadn't acted like a child at all then. He hadn't thought about her for years. In the circumstances trying to forget everything had seemed the best option. Lupin had mentioned her a few times when they had met up to discuss the wolfsbane potion though, and there had been all that fuss when her father died…  
  
  
  
He grimaced and rubbed his hand across his face. Like most of the research community, he had been unable to decide whether Rhys Llewllyn have been a genius or verging on insane. All those theories on resisting the Cruciatus curse for example.  
  
  
  
Finally he pushed the sheets away from his body and dragged himself into the shower. He ran the water ice-cold, and stood shivering as it fell like tiny needles onto his skin. Snape had decided that if Faith had any memories of that, unfortunate, night in the tower she clearly had no intention of talking about them. Just as well really, there was nothing to say.  
  
  
  
He pressed his forehead against the marble wall. So much time, so much pain since then. If he let himself he could still remember the agony in her green eyes.  
  
  
  
He slammed the shower off and stepped out angrily. Memories of that time were not for resurrection. Not now, not ever.  
  
  
  
Snape lent on the sink for a few minuets, trying to savour the feeling of being so cold. It would be the only time today he could shiver like this, the heat was even seeping down to the dungeons.  
  
  
  
He raised his eyes to the mirror, grimaced, and looked back down. Now the hangover and alcohol had left his system the throbbing ache in his left arm had returned. The Death Eaters had all been called last night. He could obviously no longer attend, but if all the Death Eaters were called his mark burned too. Hence the drinking. Magical potions did not even numb it, but single malt whisky seemed to manage quite well.  
  
  
  
Until the morning of course. Then it would ache like the aftermath of the Cruciatus ached.  
  
  
  
He looked in the mirror again and muttered bitterly,  
  
  
  
"Well at least I'm rotting my liver in style."  
  
  
  
Snape despised cheap whisky with all the loathing his stinking rich upbringing hand managed to instil into him.  
  
  
  
He dressed quickly and went to find breakfast, remembering with a shock of horror that Trelawney was back yesterday and was looking for him. 


	6. 6) Shock

Still don't own them, apart from Faith, still making no money.  
  
************************************************  
  
He stopped in the doorway of the Hall. Sprout, McGonagall, Hooch and Flitwick were crowded around a copy of the Daily Prophet, they looked grim and McGonagall's mouth was set in a thin line. They looked up as he walked in, but then rapidly glanced away. He wandered why they couldn't meet his eyes, there had been plenty of other mornings, after a raid, where they had tolerated the presence of an ex-Death Eater in their midst.  
  
  
  
The other reason for the whisky soaked binge last night had been fear of what the newspaper would contain today. As soon as the mark had burned Snape had known that there were people out there with only a few hours left to live. And they didn't know. He was stuck here, while out there some people were screaming their guts out in terror and pain. Screaming for help, but the aurors were very unlikely to have got there in time. He dragged his hand down the rough stone and ground his teeth. More deaths. He didn't want to read the Prophet, didn't want to be here. But he would. Of course he would.  
  
  
  
And in his mind he would rip another mark, (or two, or three…) in the tally chart he held in his head. One mark for every death. On mark for every life the Death Eaters took. One mark for everyone of those deaths that he had helped to bring about.  
  
  
  
He still hesitated. Reading the prophet got harder and harder. He had once thought that he should take all those marks in his head and scratch them onto his body. But he had made the mistake of drunkenly spewing that plan out to Dumbledore. It had been the crushing hurt and disappointment in the man's face that convinced him not to.  
  
  
  
Finally he threw back his head and strode over to the table, flicking the paper out of McGonagall's hands. But it was not what he was expecting. He felt himself sink into a chair, and someone murmured his name, but he ignored them.  
  
  
  
The headline was very simple.  
  
  
  
Lestrangers Dead!  
  
  
  
He looked down to the mug shots scowling at him from the cover. They had been taken just after they had been caught in 1982. Tempest had a deep scratch down one cheek. Graham had a black eye. Snape thought blearily that that must of hurt.  
  
  
  
He couldn't believe they were dead, really and truly dead.  
  
  
  
Someone's hand was resting on his shoulder but he shrugged it off. He'd dealt with their imprisonment, it had hardly been a surprise when they had been caught, he had worked to get them caught, at that time totally beyond conventional feelings you could put a name on and call guilt. He had dealt with their escape, had that been two years ago? It felt more. But now they were dead, he didn't think he wanted them dead. For six years he had slept in the bed next to Graham. Six years.  
  
  
  
And then there was Tempest. He had never met anyone so alive as Tempest. Tempest Fiar as she had been then. She had been one of his closest friends. And now they were dead. Not just vague figures in Azkaban, not blank names printed in the paper, but dead.  
  
  
  
He forced himself to read the article, despite the fact that he wasn't sure he could control the bile rising in his throat. It wasn't complicated. There had been a Death Eater raid, the aurors had gone and fucked up. Lots of people had been killed, including two random muggle bystanders. A lot of deaths. Including Graham and Tempest Lestranger.  
  
  
  
Snape didn't have some rosy view of the two of them. He knew the depths of depravity they had sunk to. And after what Azkaban had doubtless done to them it was probably a mercy killing, but he didn't want them dead. He wanted them in Azkaban, but instead they were cold and rotting in the ground.  
  
  
  
He rose his eyes from the paper and stared at the Sun flooding the hall. On another hot Summer day, oh so long ago, there had been a Quidditch match. He remembered Tempest catching the snitch and flying down to the stands where he and Graham were standing. He remembered her hugging him out of sheer joy, and then she had turned and kissed Graham so hard they had collapsed backwards, and all the people round them had fallen over. She had looked up laughing hysterically, her eyes had been shining.  
  
  
  
Her eyes were probably full of maggots now.  
  
  
  
He'd hated her of course, later, much later. But she had been his closest ally once.  
  
  
  
He blinked hard. He had to act normal. He must not show how this, wonderful, yes it was wonderful news, had shocked him. He must join in the conversation!  
  
  
  
Minerva was asking him when Blackthorn was due back.  
  
  
  
"Tomorrow." His voice was level.  
  
  
  
"It's quite remarkable! A Dark Arts teacher who has managed to last two years!"  
  
  
  
Yes, he thought, remarkable. Odd, Graham had been remarkable. So quiet and machiavellian. Everyone had been amazed when Tempest seduced him. She was so passionate. Did everything one hundred percent. Graham was so quiet…  
  
  
  
He had to stop this, act like a human being. If he couldn't contribute then he would just listen to the damn conversation!  
  
  
  
"Blackthorn doesn't like the Llewllyns does he?"  
  
  
  
"No. But Faith is a Llewllyn Rebel, he'll probably like her!"  
  
  
  
Graham wasn't quiet now. Well he was in a way. A rather fundamental way actually. But it was past tense. Snape thought that if he hit himself every time his mind started to drift he could follow what they were saying!  
  
  
  
"What happened with the Llewllyn Rebels anyway?"  
  
  
  
"Oh Merlin knows. It's best to leave the Eight Families alone. Their snobbery is only matched by their prejudice!"  
  
  
  
It was really hard to imagine Tempest being cold. No, actually he could! The night Voldemort had been defeated she had come to him. They didn't know where Graham was. It had been raining, she was soaked, freezing, it had been raining.  
  
  
  
"Oh Severus knows I wasn't including him. Don't you Severus?"  
  
  
  
"What?" He had heard his name, he managed to speak.  
  
  
  
"Oh, nothing. She's very cold isn't she?"  
  
  
  
"Faith?"  
  
  
  
"Yes. How the hell did you get on first name terms with her?"  
  
  
  
Was some new person all they cared about? Do they give coffins to Death Eaters? He knew the graves were unmarked. He'd kissed her hair that night. Worms and flies were probably crawling all over it now.  
  
  
  
Sprout was talking, "…Well all we can do is be there for her, sympathise with her. We can be kind and supportive."  
  
  
  
Pushing it all away Snape tried to focus. He could focus on that comment, it was so stupid. Minerva was trying to catch his eyes. He raised his head slightly and looked at her. She glanced towards Sprout and rolled her eyes. He nodded slightly.  
  
  
  
McGonagall cleared her throat and said pointedly, "Remus did say we weren't to smoother her. She doesn't like sympathy apparently."  
  
  
  
Sprout shook her head. "She needs a hug."  
  
  
  
This was met with silence as three minds tried to contemplate circumstances where Faith would ever allow herself to be hugged. The fourth was remembering Graham hugging the terrified muggle girl. He had been holding her against his chest. She had been crying. Graham had been soothing her, whispering little endearments to her to make her calm down. He remembered Tempest taking the knife and gently sucking on the girl's ear lobe. Then she had started cutting her open. Sliding the knife through her skin and under the girl's breast. The blood had come suddenly, gushing over the girl's honey coloured skin. Snape had thought it was a shame to spoil something so beautiful. Tempest had raised her head and said to him…  
  
  
  
He was suddenly aware that everyone was staring at him. His palm hurt. He must of banged it on the table. He wanted to sleep, or failing that drink. But he couldn't. He smiled to reassure them, but really wasn't sure how if it come out as a smile. There was no coffee left. He would order more.  
  
  
  
McGonagall stood up and began to steer the others out of the hall. He heard Hooch's voice drift up from the doorway,  
  
  
  
"…Really he's getting worse. That jab about his family and no response at all!"  
  
  
  
He stood up and walked over to the window. He wandered vaguely if he could bury his fingers in the stone. Would the stone then freeze him maybe?  
  
  
  
"Oh God. More Ministry incompetence."  
  
  
  
He spun round to see Faith standing at the table, looking at the newspaper.  
  
  
  
"I thought you worked for the Ministry?" He sneered viciously.  
  
  
  
She glanced up and said icily, "I've been working for Dumbledore for the past few years."  
  
  
  
She leaned forward towards the coffee pot and moaned, "No coffee!"  
  
  
  
"I just sent down for some more." He went and sat down at the table.  
  
  
  
She didn't respond, but carried on leafing through the paper. Her face betrayed little more than mild annoyance at the deaths, or maybe it was just annoyance at the delay in getting coffee.  
  
  
  
When the coffee came he poured some out for her. He was surprised when she flinched at this display of courtesy.  
  
  
  
Faith sighed as she drank the coffee. "They do wonderful coffee here. Strong and black as hell."  
  
  
  
"Yes." She was right, coffee could only be served black and thick enough to coat your tongue. That was normal, that was ordinary. Actually, he thought, anyone else liking his coffee was not normal.  
  
  
  
"You like it?"  
  
  
  
She nodded. "Milk in coffee is an abomination."  
  
  
  
He smiled vaguely, "Have you seen Sprout's concoctions?"  
  
  
  
"Oh Christ yes. Disgusting."  
  
  
  
She looked out of the window, "This heat has to break soon."  
  
  
  
He nodded miserably. He couldn't breath in the heat. His guts squirmed at that thought, he could breath. Graham and Tempest couldn't. Neither could any of the people they killed.  
  
He stood up quickly and grabbed the newspaper. Then he swept out of the room before he was sick.  
  
  
  
Faith's eyes didn't leave him as he left.  
  
  
  
Snape walked into his room and breathed. It was still cool down here, he could feel the sweat on his skin turning cold.  
  
  
  
The floor was made of large, solid flagstones. When he reached four, that actually looked the same as all the rest, he knelt and tapped the centre with his wand. A smoke snake curled up from the floor and hissed at him. He sighed the password,  
  
  
  
"Nocthorrifica."  
  
  
  
It nodded and the flagstones pulled back.  
  
Inside was a hollow in the stone. It was filled with things he wanted to throw away, but for some reason couldn't. Memorabilia of his school days, newspaper cuttings, a girl's hair ribbon. And, folded in the corner, his Death Eater cloak, the mask placed neatly on top of it. Even Dumbledore had no idea he still had that.  
  
  
  
He didn't look at anything else. He just placed the newspaper on top of the other clippings. They were very old and crackled under the new pressure.  
  
He left them and went to the laboratory to wait for the inevitable summons to Dumbledore's office.  
  
  
  
A.N. This chapter is dedicated to the excellent Harry Potter For Grownups list. And in particular whoever it was (I really can't remember) that started the conversation about 'How does Snape feel towards his old DE mates?" 


	7. 7) Cell

1 JKR still don't owns these people, places etc…  
  
Thank you so much for your reviews! They really made my day! Especially with this chapter. It's hard this fanfic business isn't it? Sometimes it pours out of you, and other times it has to be ripped out.  
  
Laura Beth - The Eight Families thing is very important later on.  
  
  
  
1.1 Chapter Seven  
  
  
  
Snape dealt with the next few days in his usual way. He walked around on auto pilot and almost managed to persuade himself that nothing important had happened, that nothing had been lost.  
  
  
  
He spent the days down in the dungeons, reading up on invulnerability potions. These had gone out of fashion in the sixteenth century, when the charm had been developed. However this charm was far less efficient than the old potions, and Snape's current project was to plough though heavy and dusty old tomes, in the hope that he could find a potion that could be adapted and used now.  
  
  
  
This was proving to be completely unsuccessful. The old potions had vanished from use because of the ingredients they required, most relied on human blood and ingredients like balisk venom.  
  
  
  
His suggestion that they wait until the autumn term started and then get Potter to open the Chamber and drag out the balisk corpse had been as unsuccessful as his research.  
  
  
  
However it had been very successful in providing a distraction for him, and a reason to throw out any one who decided to visit. He did let Blackthorn stay for awhile, the Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher was the only other Slytherin on the staff and tough as hell. The two men had gone round and round in circles as they tried to find new ideas, new plans. New hope. But hope seemed to be draining away, literally evaporating in the heat. Their world was descending into chaos and all they could do was attempt to dam the flood.  
  
  
  
But here, hidden under the ground, Snape did feel moderately safe and secure. Sometimes it would occur to him that he was buried deeper than the average grave, but he would rapidly push the thought away.  
  
  
  
The nights were harder though, but Snape did have a refuge from them. It was a prison cell. A very small, circular room, with a grate in the ceiling. Moonlight pierced through the bars, creating streaks of light that fell to the floor.  
  
  
  
You could enter the room through a door about half way up the wall. Slippery stone steps, covered in mildew and mould, led down to the bottom. Chains, with heavy iron handcuffs, snaked up from the floor.  
  
  
  
Snape had found this place by accident once, (it was in the Slytherin section, but not marked on maps made in the past few hundred years,) and it had become his sanctuary. It was an impossibly peaceful and quiet place, even the Bloody Baron didn't come here.  
  
  
  
When Snape felt too much to sleep he would creep to this room.  
  
  
  
With only a few days to go till the students arrived back, he visited the cell. He sat down by the small, stone fountain in the corner and let the water gurgle over his hot hand.  
  
  
  
Even here the air seemed too dry. The heat seemed to filter into the room along with the moonlight. He concentrated on the water flowing between his fingers. It looked like mercury.  
  
  
  
The soft sound of the water, and the quiet light around him began to slowly smooth his mind.  
  
  
  
Somewhere outside a hawk cried out. A shriek that could have been pain, or could have been defiance.  
  
  
  
Snape ran his hand across the filthy floor. This room suffered everything the elements could throw at it, rain, snow, hail… The floor was a layer of dust and decay that had built up for centuries.  
  
  
  
He seemed to fall asleep eventually. Strange dreams seemed to flit across his eyes. He could see the shadows of flames flickering across the walls, and could hear the echoes of screams on the edge of his hearing. But the strongest sensation he felt was pressure. Like he was chained to the floor.  
  
  
  
Snape woke as the Sun began to rise, and he shuddered at the bright light. He had never been able to find where the grate came out, but it must be somewhere on the East side of the castle, because the morning sun beams slowly filled the entire room.  
  
  
  
He groaned and stretched. He never allowed himself to actually sleep here, but last night his body had refused to obey him. He felt even more tired than he had before, and every joint ached. He staggered to his feet and then blinked at his hand that had been lying in the fountain. It was white as paper and shrivelled up, blue veins stood out like worms under his skin.  
  
  
  
Feeling sick and drained he made his way to his own room to sleep properly. 


	8. 8) War

To quote one of my favourite fanfiction authors, "It's JKR's world, I just play in it!"  
  
Still need a beta reader if anyone is interested…  
  
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1 Chapter 8  
  
The evening was drawing in as Snape made his way up the stairs to Dumbledore's office. Blackthorn, Faith Llewllyn and himself had been called to discuss the War. A war council made up of cripples, depressives and at least two sadists. Wonderful.  
  
  
  
He was intrigued by what ideas, if any, Faith Llewllyn would have. He didn't know where she stood politically, and her frozen stare caused the questions people wanted to ask to crumble in their mouths. She was a Llewllyn though, and therefore a member of one of the Eight Families. These families had been at the top of Wizarding society for thousands of years, and had survived through a combination of ruthlessness, cunning and making sure the rest of the country remained as traditional as them.  
  
  
  
However you couldn't guarantee that all their members would be completely conservative. He certainly wasn't.  
  
  
  
Snape sighed as he pushed open the door into the anti-chamber. You couldn't predict anything about that freezing girl.  
  
  
  
He stopped suddenly as he stepped inside. Someone was laughing, a girlish laugh of pure glee was coming from Dumbledore's office. He didn't recognise the laugh, and he hesitated before cautiously approaching the office.  
  
  
  
He peered round the door and just stared in amazement.  
  
  
  
It was Faith laughing. Actually laughing. He hadn't seen her laugh. She was sitting on a low, leather couch and Fawkes was strutting up and down the table in front of her. He was flapping his wings and waving his long tail feathers against her cheek.  
  
  
  
She was laughing so much her shoulders were shaking, and her eyes glittered as she teased the bird.  
  
  
  
Snape was caught between amusement at the way she was teasing Fawkes, and amazement at how different she looked. Her whole face was lit up. She was normally striking, but her smile made her face glow.  
  
  
  
The tableau of the beautiful bird and teasing girl was lit by the evening Sun, it was both surreal and too innocent. Snape felt uncomfortable, he shouldn't be seeing her like this, the connection from one bleak night in a tower, they were forced to reluctantly share, made this too weird. He tried to draw back but Dumbledore's voice cut through the heavy air.  
  
  
  
"Severus come in! And Faith stop teasing Fawkes or he'll be insufferable."  
  
  
  
Faith had snapped her head up at his voice. She then stood up slowly and her face stiffened as she saw Snape in the doorway. Her whole body seemed to freeze as though someone had poured ice through it. Her expression shut down and froze, her eyes becoming completely blank. He felt himself tense as she held his gaze and then dismissed him, turning her head away and sitting down in a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk.  
  
  
  
He forced himself to relax, and not remember. Not remember the pleading and the pain in her face, the already unforgivable loss of control.  
  
  
  
He sat down awkwardly and started to fiddle with a loose thread on his cuff.  
  
  
  
"Would you like a drink before Blackthorn arrives? You're both a bit early… Whisky, I assume Severus?"  
  
  
  
Snape nodded. Dumbledore walked over the drinks cabinet and asked Faith. She shrugged,  
  
  
  
"Whisky is fine."  
  
  
  
"You aren't supposed to be drinking spirits you know."  
  
  
  
"I haven't been. I deserve a reward."  
  
  
  
She smiled, a bare shadow of the expression Snape had seen on her face a minuet before.  
  
  
  
Blackthorn walked in then and also gratefully excepted a drink.  
  
  
  
Snape shifted uncomfortably as they sipped their drinks. He had seen something no one was supposed to. Catching her without her layers of granite control was like catching her naked.  
  
  
  
Dumbledore broke the silence.  
  
  
  
"So Severus, how is your research going?"  
  
  
  
He shrugged. "Appalling. But if you let Potter get the balisk corpse I'm sure…"  
  
  
  
He heard Faith cough hurriedly, it had almost sounded like she was disguising a laugh.  
  
  
  
Dumbledore cut him off,  
  
  
  
"Absolutely the last resort."  
  
  
  
He then turned to Faith, "Have you looked over the plans?"  
  
  
  
She leant back in her chair, her face absolutely expressionless. Snape couldn't believe it was the same face that had been laughing, that had looked so young. She seemed to be studying the ceiling intently.  
  
  
  
"I have, and I have a suggestion to add to them. It is on the borderline of legality and would be, risky, to say the least."  
  
  
  
Snape suppressed a comment. As though anything wasn't risky. His eyes drifted to the forest outside, the sky was just beginning to go streaky with pink…  
  
  
  
"A coup d'etat."  
  
  
  
His head shot round to stare at her. She was still staring calmly at the ceiling and rolling the whisky glass between her hands. The ice cubes clinked in the silence.  
  
  
  
Blackthorn spoke first,  
  
  
  
"A coup?"  
  
  
  
"Yes."  
  
  
  
Snape managed to speak,  
  
  
  
"Borderline legal?"  
  
  
  
She shrugged,  
  
  
  
"Hopefully he will resign and the name the successor we want."  
  
  
  
"You're talking about Fudge?"  
  
  
  
He actually felt vaguely unsettled as she faced him,  
  
  
  
"Well I didn't mean Voldemort."  
  
  
  
She sounded the name like a whip crack, but he didn't flinch. She seemed to be measuring this reaction, but then turned away and began to speak to Dumbledore, who was watching her with narrowed eyes.  
  
  
  
"We can't win with Fudge as the Minister."  
  
  
  
Dumbledore nodded very slightly.  
  
  
  
"We can't remove him legally."  
  
  
  
He nodded again.  
  
  
  
"So we, persuade, him to resign."  
  
  
  
"And how would we do that?" Blackthorn was leaning towards her, his eyes glittering.  
  
  
  
Snape stood up and walked to the window. Could they? She was right it was risky. He watched a bird wheeling through the sky, it would involve manipulation, cunning, a strange plan for a Gryffindor, the bird shrieked as a hawk pounced on it in mid-air and claws flashed as it ripped open the chest and blood soaked the white feathers, but then again the stakes were so high…  
  
  
  
He turned back as Dumbledore began to speak quietly,  
  
  
  
"The Ministry was created to prevent things like this Faith."  
  
  
  
She leaned back and sneered,  
  
  
  
"And look where that has got us."  
  
  
  
"Hundreds of years of stability!"  
  
  
  
"That will shortly end!"  
  
  
  
Blackthorn nodded, "Fudge is killing us."  
  
  
  
"He's not just killing us, he sold us years ago!" There were two, faint smears of pink in her cheeks. Her eyes were glinting dangerously, it occurred to Snape that she probably looked like the hawk just before it had pounced.  
  
  
  
Dumbledore sighed, "That's as maybe, but we have laws for a reason. If we instigate a coup now it creates a precedence for peacetime."  
  
  
  
Snape shrugged, "There already is a precedent."  
  
  
  
They all stared at him.  
  
  
  
"One of my ancestors, about five hundred years ago, they tried." He smiled nastily, "They failed."  
  
  
  
Faith gave an exasperated sigh and stood up.  
  
  
  
"We are dying Albus. Dying of Ministry incompetence. Not enough is being done! Voldemort's supporters should be isolated, cut away, and they haven't been! The aurors have become canon fodder and scape goats for the media."  
  
  
  
She was marching up and down the floor, her steps falling like drum beats.  
  
  
  
"We've been given the Unforgivables, but no damn intelligence.  
  
Cruciatus is not necessary. It is not needed by the people in the field. But this gives them an excuse to not train young people properly and shuts up the moral majority who criticise us! They judge our failing morals, but ignore the fact that we are utterly unprepared for raids! We are dying. Poor information is killing us.  
  
  
  
"I'll go back soon, and if things continue to disintegrate at their current rate I will be dead in under six months.  
  
  
  
"Not that that will matter. Voldemort will have won in under two fucking years anyway."  
  
  
  
She had joined Snape at the window and stared out bleakly. The only signs of her anger were the faint, pink smears on her cheeks and her clenched, white knuckles. But the tension that threaded through her body seemed to create a wall around her.  
  
  
  
Snape turned away from her. Dumbledore was staring at his desk and mindlessly stroking Fawkes. He took a deep breath and dragged his fingers over his face.  
  
  
  
"I assume you have a plan."  
  
  
  
"The skeleton of one."  
  
  
  
"I need details. Firm, step by step plans. Work it out between the three of you. At present no one else must know. No one."  
  
  
  
Blackthorn nodded and left.  
  
  
  
Snape ran his hand across Fawkes who pecked him affectionately.  
  
  
  
"I'll go home and think."  
  
  
  
Dumbledore nodded. At the door Snape turned and said,  
  
  
  
"I don't see another way."  
  
  
  
His answer was a long, quavering note of phoenix song.  
  
  
  
A.N. Obviously I do not condone coup d'etats in real life. However this is not real life! 


	9. 9) Beauty

Only Faith is mine, all else belongs to JKR. I've realised something about my writing, it comes out best when written very late at night when I'm dropping with exhaustion! I think this may show…  
  
Can I ask a favour? If you are reviewing this could you tell me if you are starting to like Faith at all? Thank you!  
  
**********************************  
  
"Sometimes a hundred twangling instruments will hum about mine ears and make me sleep again, and then in dreaming the clouds, methought, would open and show such riches, ready to drop upon me, that, when I waked, I cried to dream again."  
  
The Tempest, William Shakespeare  
  
  
  
1 Chapter 9  
  
Faith watched him leave and turned back to Dumbledore.  
  
  
  
"You know I wouldn't of recommended it lightly."  
  
  
  
"I know."  
  
  
  
She paced absently for a moment and dug her fingernails into her palms.  
  
  
  
In a twisted sort of way she hated Albus. He was the only person she still sought approval from, and that made her feel cracked and vulnerable. She hated meeting his eyes and seeing the disappointment in them. She knew she never failed to disappoint him.  
  
  
  
"I have considered it before you know. I just hoped that it wouldn't reach the point where it would become necessary."  
  
  
  
Faith kept quiet. She thought it had passed that point a long time ago.  
  
  
  
She wandered over to the fireplace and picked up a blue vase. It was bright, peacock blue. Streaks of pinks and greens dashed through the glass, and it was illuminated by the gold wire curling through it.  
  
  
  
It was so beautiful it warmed the cold blood in her veins. She held it up to the sunset and it seemed to glow, she let her eyes roam across it and transferred the picture of it to her mind. She would be able to retrieve the memory of it whenever she wanted to. It looked so lovely, it made her feel alive.  
  
  
  
"Do you like it?"  
  
  
  
She smiled softly, "It's exquisite."  
  
  
  
"Yes. I had forgotten how easy it is for beauty to move you."  
  
  
  
"Nothing moves me," she placed the vase back down. "Nothing moves me Albus, I just allow things to touch me occasionally."  
  
  
  
She turned her face from his disappointed eyes and turned to go, but he called her back.  
  
  
  
"How are you settling in?"  
  
  
  
Faith fought the urge to grit her teeth,  
  
  
  
"Fine."  
  
  
  
"Ah, but your definition of 'fine' is rather different to the one the rest of us use."  
  
  
  
She turned around and answered very slowly, measuring the tone of every word she spoke,  
  
  
  
"I can't lie to you Albus."  
  
  
  
"No. But you do."  
  
  
  
She didn't say anything, but spun round and slid out of the door.  
  
  
  
********************************  
  
Faith rarely felt this unsettled. She was normally in such complete control that she could always hide her emotions. She had almost reached the point where she couldn't feel them at all. She was looking forward to that day.  
  
  
  
But now she was unsettled. First Snape, of all people, catching her laughing! In fact maybe it was the sheer shock of laughing, she hadn't for so long, and her reaction to the beautiful bird was extremely out of character, it should have been anyway, she was beginning to wander if it had been Fawkes teasing her.  
  
  
  
She couldn't decide how she felt about Snape anyway, and this unnerved her too. There was the tangible connection on the occasions their eyes met, she was beginning to think that he hadn't forgotten as much as she had hoped he had. On the other hand she knew huge swathes of his history and that gave her the upper hand, also he was the only person around that didn't treat her like she might snap any second.  
  
  
  
She began to walk quickly, to try and walk the anger out of her. She shouldn't allow herself to get so angry, anger brought too many horrible, dangerous, memories and feelings to the surface.  
  
  
  
She got back to her rooms (she wouldn't think of them as home,) and opened a bottle of white wine. She swigged it from the bottle, letting it ease through her brain. Tomorrow she had to be cold and calm as ever.  
  
  
  
She placed the bottle on the hearth and lay back in her chair. She just closed her eyes for a moment and picked up a violin case. She kept her eyes closed as she let her fingers play with the catch before opening it.  
  
  
  
Her fingertips ran over the violin's wood, barely touching it, but feeling it's potential, testing how ready it was. She felt her breathing increase as she raised it to her shoulder. She didn't play straight away though. Her other hand picked up the bow and tempted it, not playing yet, just teasing it against the strings.  
  
  
  
She pressed her cheek into the rest, moving her skin over the wood like a caress.  
  
  
  
She let the bow draw out one long, sweet note. It hung in the air like a drop of honey before she lent into the song.  
  
  
  
Faith started off playing a soothing melody, and then as this calmed her, surged into a cheerful tune. She recalled the image of the peacock blue vase and the Sun glinting on the gold, she sealed the image of the vase and the music together.  
  
  
  
When she played she journeyed through her memory. A particular refrain recalled a gloriously colourful painting, another series of notes the smell of her favourite perfume, this harmony a carving that had almost broken her heart, that melody the Sunlight playing on Michelle's hair in one of the few truly joyful moments of her life…  
  
  
  
Beauty elevated Faith. Music and beauty transformed her into something better, something she could never be alone.  
  
  
  
And she wasn't really alone as the music swept her along the paths and tracts in her mind, she was completed now. The ache in her chest softened and dispersed. It expressed the emotions she attempted to deny herself.  
  
  
  
As night descended the violin's music began to weep.  
  
  
  
It was the sound a phoenix cries as it dies. 


	10. 10) September 1st

Naturally I don't own any of this, JKR does!  
  
By the way, my comment about wanting to know if you like Faith wasn't vanity, I have no beta reader and am an appalling judge of my own work! I genuinely need helpful advice in reviews!  
  
Not that they will read this (and anyway one of them is dead) but I want to thank the author Pat Barker and the poet Wilfred Owen for inspiration. This would have been utterly unwriteable without them! Actually this goes for a lot of this story!  
  
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1 Chapter 10  
  
It was the first September, the day before the students arrived. Faith had planned to spend the day walking around the castle and its grounds in an attempt to revel in the last day of quiet and solitude, but it was just too hot. The pressure in the air made any exercise sickening.  
  
  
  
She had got as far as the Quidditch pitch before she collapsed down, and gasping, pressed her forehead against the ground.  
  
  
  
She pulled herself up, wrapped her arms around her legs and checked no one could see her, before she lent back and watched the cloudless sky. The high blue stretched on forever and she wasn't sure at what point she began to dream…  
  
  
  
  
  
Snape stood in front of the Slytherin common room door. He had to set the new password.  
  
  
  
He had avoided doing it before now. He didn't want to go inside, well he had no reason to go inside, he could set the damn password and go.  
  
  
  
He still hesitated, vaguely aware of how stupid he looked. After hovering for a few more minuets he realised he didn't actually know which password to pick.  
  
  
  
How stupid. It wasn't hard. It could be anything!  
  
  
  
The blank wall stared straight back at him.  
  
  
  
He reached out and gently caressed the stone with the tips of his fingers. There was absolutely no sensible reason to go in there.  
  
  
  
He pushed the door open anyway.  
  
  
  
  
  
Faith's dream started pleasantly enough. She was flying, drifting on the vague currents of the air, meandering down towards the sea. At the last moment she tried to draw back as she realised she was going to fall through the window of the house hanging dangerously on the cliff.  
  
  
  
  
  
The common room was dead. The air was stale and dry, like the air in the lungs of a corpse.  
  
  
  
He breathed in nervously. The candles had sputtered into life as he entered, but it was still dark, the shadows crept over backs of chairs and the corners of the room.  
  
  
  
Snape walked further in and dragged the palm of his hand over the back of a heavy leather couch. He had sat there.  
  
  
  
He wouldn't think of them. He drifted towards the fireplace, with its huge armchair. Whoever was currently at the top of Slytherin House sat there. He had, not until his seventh year, but he had.  
  
  
  
Rosier and Tempest had fought over it.  
  
  
  
He realised he was stroking the arm rest and rapidly snatched his hand away.  
  
  
  
His eyes drifted to the rug. Oh the things he didn't want to remember… His eyes drifted up the stairs towards the dormitory.  
  
  
  
  
  
She managed to close her eyes as the air pulled her through the living room, she had seen all that a thousand times before, but she couldn't shut out the stench of putrefying flesh. She was falling towards the cellar! Oh no no no no no no! Not here! Her hands tried to grab at the banister but fell right through, and the wood tugged at her as she collapsed through the door.  
  
  
  
  
  
Snape hesitated and took a step towards the staircase. Then another step. Then another. His hand reached the head of one of the stone snakes that guarded entrance. Their heads were rubbed smooth by the number of people who had touched them. He had, Tempest had, Graham had, Rosier had, Wilkes had…  
  
  
  
He snatched his hand away, and then stumbled backwards. He made a gagging sound as he saw Tempest sprawled on the steps in front of him, she opened her mouth to speak and the maggots eating her insides came tumbling out.  
  
  
  
  
  
Faith couldn't close her eyes now, she was back here watching her younger self, watching the figure grovelling in the dirt.  
  
  
  
She needed to cry out, but no sound would leave her mouth, the stench of blood and faeces filled ever poor of skin.  
  
  
  
  
  
Snape lurched backwards and fell on the rug, as he went down he grabbed a table, the lamp on it smashed and he cried out as his hand dug into the shards of glass as he hit the floor, all the breath driven out of him.  
  
  
  
  
  
She ran forward but couldn't stop it, the voice she knew so well was spinning round, raising its arm and yelling,  
  
  
  
"Crucio!"  
  
  
  
She creamed in agony and desire, the irreconcilable sensations swamping her as she sobbed out over and over and over and over and over again.  
  
  
  
  
  
Snape didn't move for a moment, just lay there listening to his thumping heart beat. He just lay on the cold floor and very cautiously opened his eyes. The murals on the ceiling were still the same, still unmoving, still the same. There was no smell of decay. He looked up very nervously towards the stairs and saw there was no rotting corpse their either.  
  
  
  
He stood up slowly, but then rapidly fled the room. A hallucination. Brought on by an over reaction to the Leastranges' deaths and the stress of these times.  
  
  
  
It was okay.  
  
  
  
  
  
Faith realised she was actually screaming has her body jerked awake.  
  
  
  
She lay there, gasping in great drafts of air, shaking uncontrollably.  
  
  
  
Finally she sat up and stared around. The air smelt faintly of newly mown grass, there were no corpses, no nothing.  
  
  
  
No Cruciatus curse.  
  
  
  
She pressed her trembling knuckles into her eyes, not risking standing yet.  
  
  
  
That hadn't been too bad.  
  
  
  
The curse, nightmare, memory, whatever it had been, had been better than usual. A cause for celebration she thought dryly.  
  
  
  
Eventually she staggered to her feet and looked at her arms. She hadn't scratched them, that was good.  
  
  
  
She ran her hand down her soaked T-Shirt, she needed a bath. She still couldn't walk very well as she made her way to the castle, but after that particular nightmare she didn't want to risk using magic. She could still feel the curse racing through her veins.  
  
  
  
  
  
Snape slammed the door shut.  
  
  
  
It was only here, in the cool, clean air of the corridor he realised he had been lying to himself about the smell. 


	11. 11) Tarot

Apart from Faith none of this is mine, all belongs to JKR.  Thank you for your kind reviews!  Especially the person who begged me to upload, whoever you are! And Manticore Queen, I really appreciate your offer to beta for me, but I do now have one.  Thank you very much for offering though and any comments or suggestions you have I would really  appreciate!

Finally thank you to my beta reader, Liz (go read her stories, they under the pen name Laura Beth and are wonderful!) for her helpful comments and patience with my terrible computer!  

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Chapter 11 

Faith was not going to admit to herself she was going to the staff room for company.  Nothing could make her admit that the attack in the morning had left her with a nagging fear of being alone.  She had lain trembling in the bath for hours as she tried to deal with the aftershocks.  They had come less frequently than usual but she couldn't cope with any more screams ringing in her ears.

She had slept, a dead exhausted sleep, all afternoon.  Now she felt a lot better, but she was still jumpy and could sense the buried thoughts stirring in her mind.

The staff room was a chaotic muddle of light and sounds.  She drifted through it, listening to the fragments of conversation.  Some of the teachers were excited about the pupils returning, some were dreading it, and the air was strained.  There were the snippets of laughter that were just too high, the cut off whispers and the twinges at loud noises.  There was a tangible feeling of… dread?  No, Faith thought as she reached the window, that was too strong.  It was expectation.  Not a bright and keen expectation, but a nervy and twitchy one.

As she looked out of the window she was surprised to see a faint grey smudge on the sky.  At the very edge of the horizon the clouds were massing into an oily grey blemish.

"Faith!"  Sprout's voice, Oh God…  "Are you looking forward to tomorrow?  Going to be a bit of a change I expect!  But then living here has been hasn't it?  I wonder if…"

Faith nodded along to whatever the hell Sprout was rattling on about.  She couldn't face the woman's eyes.  The unbearable, watery sympathy was too much for her to take.

She scanned the crowd for Snape or Blackthorn, but neither were around.  Sprout was still talking, Faith was seriously beginning to wander if her brain was actually connected to her mouth.  She turned and faced the older woman giving her the iciest stare she could manage.

Sprout trailed off and Faith walked over to a table loaded with drinks.  She poured herself a glass of lemonade, checked no one was looking, and topped it up with whisky.  She then sat down at a table in the corner and began to write a letter to Remus.

She hated writing letters, the plain black words could deviously lead you to say too much, but Faith knew she put her friends, all two of them, through enough without ignoring them for months as well.

_"Dear Remus,_

_There isn't much to tell.  I'm still alive, and since no evidence to the contrary has come my way I assume you are too._

It's still too hot here.  You'd think that it would be cooler in Scotland wouldn't you?  But the damn heat won't break."

She tapped her fingers against the wood.  

"I've put on some weight.  You can't see my ribs so clearly now."

Faith jerked her head up as the door banged open, Snape had marched in ahead of Trelawney, who was waving her hands and calling to him.

"But Severus, it's really exciting news!"

She fluttered in front of him, all shaking bangles, flapping, garish scarves and clattering beads.  Faith thought she looked like a butterfly on a acid trip. 

Snape poured some whisky, downed it and slammed the glass on the table.

"Sybil. I do not.  Do not.  Want to know any of your pathetic visions."  He sneered the last word like it was a bad taste in his mouth.

Faith was surprised to find herself wanting to laugh.

Trelawney swung in front of Snape,

"But…"

"No!  Especially if you think it involves me.  No."

He stalked across the room to Minerva, who's mouth was twitching like she wanted to laugh.

Trelawney suddenly span round in the middle of the room and proclaimed,

"There's someone new here!"

This was met by a general groan, and Faith tried to melt into the background, but it was too late.  Trelawney was walking over to her with a calculating look.

Faith did not stand up but raised her eyes to stare coldly at the woman.

"You have an interesting aura my dear."

Faith suppressed the urge to breath in sharply at the endearment, her voice was acid as she said,

"My name is Faith Llewllyn."

She also felt vaguely stumped, how on Earth was she supposed to respond to a comment like that?

"It's the colour of steel."

"Steel?"

"Yes."

Faith was aware of a general movement in their direction.  She leaned back,

"I was once told it was aubergine."

It was actually true that someone had said that to her.  She hadn't been able to keep a straight face.  She and Michelle, who's aura had been gold, had had hysterics about it for hours.  Something inside her smiled, they had thought the whole of France was gold that Summer.

Trelawney tilted her head, 

"No, definitely steel."

Faith smiled and was just about to point out the total uselessness of that information to her and that she was actually busy, when Trelawney cut in,

"Why don't I do a tarot reading for you?  To welcome you to Hogwarts.  Maybe we could see how long it will be till your health improves?"

Faith smiled narrowly.  The woman was going to pay for that crack about her health, a crack which also showed an annoying degree of perception.  

Faith considered tarot cards a speciality.  She had been taught a trick with them in France, about six years ago.  Its was a trick that could be extremely funny, or used to scare people away.  Faith was crowing inside, she could probably make Trelawney desperate never to come near her again.

She smiled sweetly and said,

"Why not?"

She noticed Snape and McGonagall had wandered over.  She caught Snape's eye for a moment and glanced down at the cards Trelawney was offering her.  As she lay down the top five Faith focused her mind to see the pictures on the cards…

The hard thing with this trick wasn't the actual magic, it was giving the impression you weren't doing anything at all.

She frowned at the first cards and pictured the image she wanted.  As Trelawney gabbled about the history of Tarot, Faith let the picture twist as she altered it with her mind's eye.  The picture twisted, slid and then fixed.  She let her breath out, the only sign so far of the effort this was taking.  The second part was easier, she just had to transfer the picture on the first card to the other four…

She sat back in relief as she finished, now for the fun!

Trelawney turned over the first card.  As Faith had created it, a grinning death stood there, waving his little scythe. 

Trelawney laughed,

"Don't worry, it doesn't actually mean death!  It really means an ending, so therefore also a new beginning."

Faith bared her teeth in something approximating a smile.

Trelawney turned up the next card.  Also death.

"Oh."

Faith smiled and said sweetly,

"Is something wrong?"

Somewhere to her left there was a hasty coughing noise.  Snape moved round behind Trelawney's chair.  Faith couldn't manage to look at him yet.

"Well… Um… There is only one major arcane per pack… I'm not sure…"

Faith leaned over and tapped the rest of the pack with her wand.  

"Finite Incantatem.  No, there doesn't appear to be anything wrong with them."

"I'm sure it's fine Sybil.  The other cards may explain it."

Snape's silky smooth voice eased over the table.  Faith was surprised to see Trelawney visibly relax.  She glanced up but Snape's face was as unreadable as her own.

"But this is impossible!"

"I'm sure there must be a precedent."

McGonagall came closer and smiled,

"Listen to him Sybil.  I mean if anyone knows a precedent for something in divination it would be a Snape."

Snape glowered at her, and Faith filed away that information for future reference.  So Snape doesn't like references to his family's fame in divination.

Trelawney turned over the next card.  Then breathed in quickly and clutched at the glass round her neck.  Her bug eyes were watering behind her glasses.

"Not doing well am I?"  Faith said  in an agreeable voice.

"It isn't possible!"

"But the cards never lie."

Faith shrugged.  She could sense Minerva standing next to her and struggling against the laughter.

Trelawney was staring in horror and gulping like fish.

The fourth card's death waved cheerfully and then made a swishing motion with its scythe.

Trelawney was speechless, she waved her hands in horror, the bangles trembling in sympathy with their owner.  Faith also made no comment, she appeared to be a sweet mixture of embarrassment and curiosity.  

Her hand hovered over the Fifth card.  Faith glanced over to Minerva, who was shaking with suppressed laughter, and then up at Snape.  He just raised his eyebrow and quirked his lips, a curious gesture of respect.

She glanced down rapidly.

When the last card also turned out to be death, Faith gave an embarrassed smile and spread her arms in incomprehension.

Trelawney gathered up the cards, then spilt them everywhere and muttered something about casting out the presence of death.  She practically ran out the room in a trail of glitter and gauze.  Some of her scarves got trapped in the door and she tripped on the doorframe as she scrambled out.

Minerva let the laughter loose and clapped faith on the shoulder, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Wonderful, the old fraud won't bother you all year!"  She walked off with Hooch, both of them still chortling.

Snape slid into the chair vacated by Trelawney.

"How did you do that?"

"I didn't do anything.  It was all in the cards."

"Oh.  Of course."

He leaned towards Faith and smiled disbelievingly.  Faith felt surprisingly uncomfortable at his proximity, it was unnerving.

She didn't give him the satisfaction of leaning back however, she matched his stare and shrugged slowly.

"I'm going to have to be very careful."

"You are.  Speaking of which, your plan needs to be discussed."

"I know."

"With the students back tomorrow I want this last night to myself.  Tomorrow is, obviously, impossible.  But the day after?"

"Fine."

"Come to my rooms at eight.  I'll speak to Blackthorn."

He pushed the chair back and made to sweep out of the room, but got side tracked by Minerva and dragged into a conversation about the inter-house Quidditch fixtures.

Faith breathed out slowly and ran her hand through her hair.  She felt stupid about still being jumpy from the morning.  She took a long gulp of lemonade and smiled.  She wouldn't have to speak to Trelawney ever again!  Even if she worked out the trick she would probably be too offended to speak to her.

She started on the letter again.

"My scars are fading too.  They have gone to pink now.  Apart from"

She stopped.  That was a random quirk of the Nocthorrifica curse.  It turned any scars on your body a deep crimson.  She had been going to write _"apart from the ones on my wrists."_

Instinctively she began to play with the heavy silver bangles she wore to hide them.  The bangles were out of character and uncomfortable, but preferable to the World knowing she had once tried to slit her wrists.  Or twice to be accurate.

She hesitated and crossed out _"apart from."_   Remus knew of course, but he would only tell her to be sensible and ask Dumbledore about it, or worse a doctor.  That was not a conversation she wanted to have.

"Your warnings not to coddle me have fallen on deaf ears.  Sprout is unbearable and the others aren't much better.  They keep expecting me to snap any second.  Fuck knows what they would do if I did though.

_Actually Minerva treats me fairly normally.  And Blackthorn, but I met him a few years ago._

_Snape treats me with the same indifference or  contempt with which he treats everyone.  Well that's not entirely fair, he was quite nice to me just now!  But then I had just humiliated Trelawney.  _

_My good deed for the day!_

She paused on the next line.  She knew the expected thing to say was "I miss you."  And she did miss him.  But she couldn't write it, the naked need implied in the line was more than she could give.

_"Thinking of you.  When I'm bored at any rate!_

_Faith."_

She read through the letter, it was ridiculously cold.  But she shrugged and got up to post it anyway.

Before she got halfway across the room Dumbledore walked in.

"Faith!  What have you done to Sybil?  I saw her just now and she was in a very bad state.  Making no sense, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to protect you or banish you from the school for bringing the spectre of death!"

Faith was sure that behind his grave tone his eyes were twinkling.  She just shrugged.

"Anyway, I need to talk to you about something.  It is customary for new members of staff to be introduced at the Sorting Feast.  I know you're not a teacher, but I think it would be the a good thing to do. To let them know who you are.

"No.  I wasn't even planning to be at the Sorting, it's really not necessary Albus."

"It will help."

"How?"

She was aware of Snape watching and enjoying her discomfort.  

Dumbledore shrugged,  "People will see you around the school and rumours will fly.  Who are you?  And when that is answered, why are you here?  If I just briefly explain that you're a recuperating auror helping me there is no reason for gossip."

Faith sighed.  He was right, but it would still be fairly damn horrible.

"Fine.  Anything else?"

"I'll introduce you to the Head Girl and Head Boy, that may make things easier too."

"Great. I can't wait.  Now if you'll excuse me."

She walked out and slammed the door behind her.  

She hated the idea of all the students staring at her, knowing her. "Oh sod it," she said venomously, prompting a picture of a very prim Victorian lady to look at her in complete disgust.

Faith sighed.  It was not possible to do a thing right here.   

     


	12. 12) Painting

Thanks to Tigger, Kbear for their second reviews, its really nice to know people are following this!  And Mystical Witch for her review.  (See people, review!  You will get a moment of cyber space fame!  Honestly!) 

And Liz for kindly beta reading this for me!  Go read her stuff, under the name Laura Beth, it rules.

**************************** Chapter 12 

Snape tapped his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair as he waited for Blackthorn and Faith Llewllyn to arrive.

He had invited her to his rooms because he wanted to be in control for this meeting.  As his guest she would be bound by some social conventions, there was a possibility that she be unsettled by being somewhere new.  This meeting was important, and he wanted that woman on his territory for it.

He flicked through a magazine without really seeing the words.  He'd been amused by the way she sat next to him, and talked to him at the Sorting.  It had been a fairly obvious message to all the students, 'Look I associate with someone you are all scared of and despise, so don't come fucking near me.'  Despite its obviousness it had probably been effective.  She had spent the evening glowering at the students, and probably managed to terrify anyone unfortunate enough to catch her eye.

He poured himself a glass of wine and swirled it round the crystal.  It had been strange how she cut Granger dead when the Head Girl had tried to ask her about her father's research.

Obviously some bad blood there.  He sighed sarcastically, such a shame when families fall out.

He inhaled a breath of the wine and smiled in anticipation, but someone banged on the door.

7:55.  He wondered if she was being early to try and disconcert him.  Fairly feeble effort if she was.

Snape opened the door and peered down at her,

"Come in."

She walked past him and glanced around the room.  Her eyes flicked over the huge bookcases that groaned under the weight of leather bound books, heavy old furniture, and the green, velvet wallpaper.

He motioned her to some chairs around an ebony table in the centre of the room.

"Wine?"

"Yes.  Thank you."

He poured her a glass and watch her test it before she drank it properly.  A glimmer of a smile passed across her face as she drank.  He took the chair at the head of the table, it put him in command.

She looked up at a picture hanging on the wall between two bookcases.  It wasn't of mountains exactly, more the representation of mountains.  Fiery reds and golds and purples intertwined and overlapping in the layers of paint.  It shimmered like the clouds that ran across it.

She stood up and walked over to it.

"This is amazing."  He was surprised by the slight breathlessness in her voice.  "It can't be a Van Gogh, but it's similar, the paints must be magical, but the depth…"  She was talking to herself, not to him, and he didn't know why it took a moment for him to find his voice.

"It's a Carlo.  Jissette Carlo.  One of the few truly great works she ever did.  She was one of Van Gogh's pupils but also a witch."

"Yes, I see now.  I know the story."

He had come to stand next to her and looked at the painting.  It was one of the few things in the room that hadn't come with the Slytherin Head Of House quarters.  He approved of the rooms, but his predecessors' taste in art had been appalling.

She turned her head and gave him another faint flicker of a smile,

"You're very lucky to have it."

"I know."  He smiled smugly, and then realised he was standing very close to her and moved rapidly away.

The door was banged again and Blackthorn limped in.  The snakes that curled round the heavy staff he leant on, hissed at Snape and Faith as they checked the room.  They weren't just for show.  The poison in the one could easily kill half the school.  The other carried a very strong sleeping draft.

Snape knew Dumbledore had told him to drain the poisons, but he strongly doubted the man had done it.

He pushed a glass of wine towards the older man, and watched as he and Faith exchanged pleasantries.

He knew it was pathetic really, and heavily ironic, that it was the three of them who were trying to bring the evil in society to a standstill.

Blackthorn, the crippled ex Auror, whose exotic lineage had given him skin the colour of burnt honey and almond shaped black eyes.  His toughness was sexually compelling enough to have the majority of the girls, and a fair few of the boys, longing to be on their knees in front of him.  But what Snape suspected about the man's sexual tastes would make most of them regret this very, very quickly.

Then there was him.  Ex Death Eater and reformed sadist, who was quite possibly becoming psychotic.  A man who had walked out on all the responsibilities his position in his family demanded of him, and who persisted in making 280 peoples' lives a misery for the majority of the year.  In part because he got bored if he didn't.

And finally Faith Llewllyn.  Who wasn't even strong enough to use her animagus form.  Who stared out on the World with blank, bitter eyes that spoke of far too much, far too young.  Maybe she wasn't completely beyond hope, her reactions to the painting and Fawkes were surprising, but they were rare exceptions to her unfathomable, bleak character.

They were the sadists and screw ups.  The stock evil characters of many bad novels, plays and Muggle films.  And here they were, blundering around in the light.

He laughed out loud and they looked up at him.

He shrugged and said,

"Well Miss Llewllyn, your plan?"

She lent forward on the table and spoke slowly,

"We pick a suitable candidate and persuade Fudge, through carefully applied pressure, to resign in favour of him."

Blackthorn shook his head,

"Not impossible, but once the Minister resigns the Ministry Elect has to pick the new one."  He sat back and spat out, "That's democracy." 

 Faith snorted and Snape smirked, the glorious Ministry Elect had been the Wizarding World's attempt to introduce a semblance of democracy to the community and cut down the power of the Eight families.  It had managed the latter but had failed utterly in the first goal.  Members of the Elect were voted for, but had to be Ministry members and nominated by the Ministry.  Each of the hundred spaces were only changed when a member died or resigned.

There had been constant calls for reform.  But as Fudge had so often said, "When something has worked for hundreds of years why change it?"   

One of the snakes on Blackthorn's staff squeezed tighter with a low hiss.

Snape shook his head,

"Muggle borns.  You don't think in centuries.  If you go back far enough, and it could be hundreds of years, there will be a precedent.

Faith nodded.

"There's a precedent for anything,"  She took a sip of wine and held it up to the light from the chandelier, twisting it so the rays of light spiralled of into the corners of the room.  "Won't it be fun looking for it?"

Snape snorted.  Faith brought the glass down to eye level.

"These weren't Hogwarts own were they?"

"No."

"I thought not, they're far too elegant.  The ones in my room were foul, gold goblet things.  I've had to order my own up."

"Back to the war…"  Blackthorn cut in, "Precedent or not, we need the council."

Faith sighed, "True.  We need a candidate suitable to us and them."

Snape took out a quill and began to write,

"What do we need?"

Blackthorn shrugged, "The control of the military operation, plans, aurors etc, to Dumbledore."

Faith nodded, "Restricting of aurora entry again.  They're letting anyone in, and the current training is appalling."  She drank more wine as she began to warm to her theme.  "Someone prepared to give us a more open style of investigation.  We're running around like rats in a trap, we can't win in the dark."

Snape glanced at the paper, "There's several Ministry Elect members who have calling for these, and it would make things considerably easier to pick one of them."

Faith walked around the table and he sensed her looking over his shoulder at the list.  He resisted the urge to thrust her presence away.  He was vaguely aware of a slight perfume, and the sense of her hair almost touching his cheek.  His breath hitched slightly, but then her voice cut through,

"It's going to have to be a social liberal."

Blackthorn nodded, and Snape managed to recover, he said in a needling, cruel voice,

"You're not just inventing this plan as an illegal way to inflict your views on the World, are you?"

He expected her be offended, but to his surprise she smiled thinly and raised an eye brow,

"It's a pleasant bonus."

He was also surprised to find himself laughing as she sat back down.

Blackthorn grimaced, "If the 'candidate' is going to be a liberal they'd better be a pure blood."

Faith frowned and opened her mouth angrily, but Blackthorn cut her off.

"I know it shouldn't be like that, but it is.  With the situation as it is people are far too scared to consider 'improving society'.  You may be considered one of the Llewllyn Rebels Faith, but you're as Pure Blooded as it's possible to be.  I was a Muggle Born Slytherin and if can accept it as a means to an end, then you can."

One of the snakes opened a lazy, red mouth, exposing its sharp fangs.

"After this is over, society will change."

Snape felt a shudder run through his gut at the tone in Blackthorn's voice.  This was what he had long ago decided it meant to be a Slytherin.  Life was essentially one battle after another, satisfaction was impossible.

He shrugged and said, "We may not have a choice either way.  We need to find a candidate and some sort of useful precedent.  If we divide up the years and Ministry Elect members between us…"

Just before she left Faith wandered over again to the Carlo.  He watched her sharp profile in the shadows of the fire, she held a finger about an inch away from the canvas and traced its colours and swirls.  He watched her unconsciously lick her lips before she pulled herself away from the painting.

Once she'd gone he groaned in exhaustion and pulled his fingers through his hair.  He moved over to the painting and really looked at it for the first time in ages.  With its mad riddles, half hidden secrets and surprises it was vaguely reminiscent of the woman who had just left the room. 


	13. 13) Burning

Thanks loads to Liz for beta reading this!!!  Please review everyone!  And thank you to Lis for your kind review, although I'm afraid I cannot answer your questions, you will just have to read on!  (Such a tease aren't I?)  xxxxx

***********************            

Snape's eyes opened in the darkness.  But he could still see everything.  He was confused.  He tried to move but he couldn't, and then understanding dawned.

This was a lucid dream.  Weird.

He felt his body stand and leave the room.  His consciousness a passenger in the dark matter behind his eyes.

He was defiantly dreaming though, he was fully clothed for one thing.

He drifted down the corridors with no control over where his body was taking him.  Down, down through the dungeons.

Oh!  He was going towards the cell!  Maybe this would be a nice dream for once.

He watched his hands reach out to turn the iron handle.  Funny to watch your hands in this detached way.  To see the veins, cells and muscles that make them work.

Once inside he looked up at the sky.  It was a pale, bleached grey just before dawn.  He felt his lungs take an appreciative draught of air.

Fresh air.  But there was a hint of something sweet and familiar, like a perfume he had long forgotten.  And there was something else, under that there was a faint foulness, the tang of decay?

He looked down, and his throat choked.

Tempest was chained to the floor and he tried to scream, but the noise stuck in his throat.  He turned and wrenched at the door handle, but he couldn't move it!  He heard her call his name and he turned back.  The chains were wrapped up her arms, around her legs.

He could still make no noise, he could see the metal digging into her flesh, he wanted to be sick, he wanted to scream!

She turned her head and looked pointedly at the grid in the ceiling.  He followed her gaze and saw the sickly sunlight beginning to spread across the floor.

His mouth was dry and he turned on the door again,  but it wouldn't budge!  He was going to be so, so sick.

The sunlight was creeping towards her feet.  She was humming.  A grating, jerky refrain that was repeated over and over and over again.

He tried to shout in protest, but the words wouldn't come out.  His nails ripped at the door.

The sunlight hit the soles of her feet.

The room filled with screaming, in the madness he wasn't sure who's.  He wanted to wake up, he wanted this to stop, it had to stop!

She yelled, twisted and kicked in agony as the sunlight scorched her flesh.

He was screaming too.  The sound was released from his throat like an explosion.  He was screaming in fear, in grief, his former best friend, closest ally, was crumbling to dust with the sunlight.

It made its way up her legs.  Her scream never let up, the agony was too intense.  Her bones were disintegrating, her muscles shredding.  There were short spurts of blood before they froze and crumbled too!  

The sun hit her groin and her scream rose even higher, an undulating peak, as the thing that had been Tempest Lestrange bucked and writhed in the chains.

Snape's scream rose with hers as he scrabbled at the door, the wood tore his nails and cut into his flesh, but he couldn't even mark it!  Oh God, he couldn't get out, he wanted this to stop, he wanted her to move, he wanted this to stop!

Her screams were turning to sobs as the light reached her breasts.  Her head snapped round and found his eyes she screeched his name as it hit her heart.

There was a final wail that came from the depths of her soul, from the depths of the anguish, and then the rest of her exploded.  Shafts of light cut the air, and the scream became a discordant musical note.  Dust blew like a black hurricane round the room and then settled like toxic snow.

Snape felt the door open behind him and he fell through, puking his guts up so violently his throat bled.

*********************    

He woke in his own rooms.  The first thing he realised was the ache in his whole body and the really sharp pain in his hands.  He moaned softly and then twisted his head away from the sharp smell of bile.

He was lying on the cold stone floor, in his own rooms, naked, in a pool of his own vomit.

He managed to crawl to the bathroom and then stand up.  The bright light blinded him, but as the pain cleared he could see his hands.  

They were torn and bloody as if he had been trying to tear something apart. 


	14. 14) Slytherins

Obviously a huge amount of thanks goes to Liz for Eleanor's snappy come back (you will understand by the end of the chapter!)  Please review and spread the word!

Chapter 14 

It had taken a lot to get Snape out of bed that morning.  To be precise it had taken three cups of coffee with shots of whisky in.  

He knew what was happening was bad, he did not need telling.  Drinking to make yourself get up is never good.  He also knew the dream was bad, it had been disconcertingly similar to the 'vision' on the stairs.  Odd really, the word vision usually had pleasant connotations.  Everything was bad.

But he couldn't give a fuck.  As he dressed he wondered if people going mad were usually aware of the process.  He wondered if madness would be a relief.  

In the bathroom he rubbed soothing, mint healing cream into his cut hands.  His toes clenched on the green tiles as the magic healed the scratches.  The skin knitting together so quickly hurt, but he couldn't deal with potions with cut hands.  How the hell had he done that?

He risked glancing in the mirror and groaned.  He really did look appalling.  Drained, with dark purple shadows almost like bruises under his eyes.  His lips were pale and cracked, and there was a crooked scratch down his cheek from God knows where.  He had little red veins breaking in his eyes.

Something had to give, had to change.  But there didn't seem to be anything that would help.  Months of high strain, combined with near total inactivity, were making his brain bleed.

He could feel the change, the storm approaching.  He could sense with whatever stupid, precognitive Snape sense he had that something was going to happen.

As he stepped out of his rooms he wondered if he'd survive it.  He wondered if he cared.

*******************   

The first morning lessons were terrible.  He couldn't stand the stupid, stinking, imbecilic brats, who couldn't get this, or anything right.  Every single little sound they made sliced through his mind.  

They were all first years and sickeningly innocent.  He supposed he should feel sorry for them really, considering the world they would probably inherit.  His eyes flicked over the muggle borns in the room, they were all dead for a start.  It was too easy to picture the blonde hair matted with blood, the dark skin with bruises blossoming over it.  The pretty ones would probably live slightly longer, although that was not a good thing.  And it only counted if you considered life to be happening as you were tied up in some Death Eater's dungeon with blood and spunk running down your legs.

Unless they could stop it.  It was almost laughable.  He rubbed his eyes to clear the images, and had to gulp down the bile in his throat as he saw Tempest burning again.  He hadn't even been able to stop that in a dream.

He opened his eyes and looked down at the students.  Portia Malfoy glanced away from him and back to her cauldron.  She was one of the very few Malfoys left, a cousin of the main branch currently Headed by Lucius.  Most of the family had been culled in the nineteenth and twentieth century wars.  It was the same with all the Eight Families, but the Malfoys had suffered more than most.  It was no wonder they were so bitter really.

Portia was a child who already had the potential to grow up to be terrifying.  She worried him already and he'd only known her a few days.  Her coal black eyes were hard and watchful, like she'd spent her life waiting for the next blow.  Obviously the Professors watched children like that very closely, but with no real evidence how can you tell for certain if someone is being abused or not?

Dead.  All dead.

***************************    

Snape moved quickly through the hall at break to reach the staff room.  He hoped Faith would be there because he had set her a test last night.  When the files had been divided up he had given her one of his.  It wasn't that important but he wanted to see how she would react.  Ignore it and timidly take the extra work, give it back to him politely, yell at him…

It was just a little test to try and discover a bit more about her personality.

The weather was horrible now.  The sky was streaked with grey, sludgy clouds, but the heat was as unbearable as ever.  It was heavy and seemed to cling to everything.  The lake stank.  Even the Brats seemed subdued.

"Professor?"

He turned and saw Eleanor De Sade approaching him.  Another girl too old too young.  He had thought she was a potential Death Eater candidate, but her family had been killed in a Death Eater raid that Summer.  They hadn't even been the targets, just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Death Eaters were so damn brainlessness at times.  No sense of looking to the future at all.

"Eleanor."

"Did you have a good Summer Sir?"

"Wonderful of course."

Her lips twisted up at the blatant lie.

"May I request something Sir?"

"Yes."

"I intend to apply for an apprenticeship with one of the Interrogators next year." 

"They very rarely give them.  You would find it far easier to go into the Auror training scheme and then specialise."

"Aurors are cannon fodder."

He looked down into her ice cold blue eyes.  She would make a very good interrogator.

"True."

"I thought that if you, perhaps, gave me some extra lessons in Truth potions."  He raised an eyebrow and looked at her harshly and impatiently.  She didn't flinch though and carried on, "Then maybe, if I was good enough, you could give me a personal reference.  And then they may feel that I would be better off with them."

She trailed off, but kept her face steady.  He sighed, she would be very good, and she would be in his debt.  There are some people it is far better to have owing you than the other way round.  And additionally just because she was probably bitterly against Voldemort now, assuming they could defeat him, there would always be other power seekers.  Making sure Eleanor was in a career where she could advance quickly and have ample opportunity to use her power was probably no bad thing at all.  

"I know Maston Wilkes, his daughter was in my year.  He hasn't had an apprentice in some time."  Although what he would say to taking on someone whose ancestor had lent their name to the word Sadism he wasn't sure.

Her eyes gleamed for a second, not with pleasure though, it was too cruel for that.

"I can guarantee nothing."

"I know."

"It will help that you are a Prefect, and starting this in your sixth year, that marks you as enthusiastic."

"I thought as much."

"If you don't perform well though I won't recommend you.  What I say about people is respected.  I will not change that." 

"Of course.  Thank you."

She turned to walk away, and then another, oily voice, cut through the air.

"Sorry to hear about your family De Sade."

Snape watched Eleanor turn towards Draco Malfoy.  She moved very slowly, like the snake just as it notices the rodent.

"Indeed Malfoy.  But this is hardly the setting I will choose to hear you choke out your apology."

There was a pause and then she walked away.  

"Did you have a good Summer Sir?"

One of the many complexities he could really do without was Draco Malfoy.

Of course the boy, well he wasn't really a boy any more, knew he was a Death Eater traitor.  And of course he, Snape, knew that Draco was almost certainly going to follow in his father's footsteps.

And they both knew the other knew.

So they were excruciatingly polite to each other and tried to avoid conversation around controversial topics.  He really regretted making Draco a prefect, it made him impossible to avoid.

"How is your cousin settling in?"

"Fine, I think.  Obviously it's a huge change for her, but she likes her dorm mates."

"That's good…"

The conversation drifted into the kind of House business that Snape could go through on autopilot.

He looked up as he saw Faith Llewllyn walking towards them.  She wore a pale green robe that floated out behind her as she walked.  Children scuttled desperately out of her way as she strode down the stairs.

He smiled at the file she was carrying.  It looked like she'd passed.

When she reached them Draco inclined his head quickly and said,

"Hello Faith."

"Hello Draco."

"How are you settling in?"

"Fine thank you."

Snape watched them through narrowed eyes, how the hell did they know each other?  Obviously all the Eight Families knew each other, but the Llewllyn Rebels had been persona non gratis since Faith's grandfather had broken with the family.  It was very strange that that the future Malfoy Head would be on first name terms with one of them.

"It's several years since you visited."  Draco was smiling far too ingratiatingly for Snape's taste, God he could be a little creep at times.

"Yes.  Send my regards to your parents."  Faith's face was as blank and inexpressive as ever.  "Do you think you could excuse us Draco?  I have something I need to discuss with Professor Snape."

"Of course."  There was a flash of, something, possibly bitterness at being dismissed, in his eyes, but he smiled very nicely and nodded his head towards Snape before walking away.

"He looks so like his Father."

"How do you know the Malfoys?"  Snape asked as they moved away, trying to keep the curiosity out of his voice.

"Do you remember when Lucius used to hold his _"I was never a Death Eater, reeeally"_ style parties and invite various Ministry minions along?"

"Yes."

"He used to invite my Father.  When I was sixteen he obviously started bringing me."

Snape glanced at her, it wasn't really obvious why at all.

They had reached the staff room, she stopped and turned to him.

"Anyway, I wanted to see you to give you this.  It got mixed up with my papers last night."

She held the file out towards him.  He looked up at her mocking eyes.  Her lips quirked into a small smile as he stared at her, she seemed to know or sense it had been deliberate.

He took the file and felt a slight pressure as she held it for a few seconds before she let go.

He looked down quickly.  Meeting her eyes was too hard, it brought back to many feelings of when she had been here before, but that had been so long ago.  He had been so different then.  He hoped.

She swallowed and ducked quickly into the room.

Snape stood outside for a second.  It was stupid, he was being stupid.  One night, years ago, when two lonely broken people had run into each other and…  And nothing.  Exchanged words.  

Oh sod it.  He slammed the door shut so hard the hinges rattled.

*************************      

Faith had curled up in a corner of the room.  Fucking, smug, smirking Snape.  She closed her eyes.  She wasn't that lonely, screwed up little girl anymore, but being around him made her feel like she was.

Bastard.        


	15. 15) Daddy

Thank you very much to the lovely Kbear, Mary Jane, Lis and Laura Beth.  (Who also beta read this, go read her stuff its absolutely brilliant!)  Your comments were all helpful, and extremely encouraging!  Thank you so much! Chapter 15 

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"I have always been scared of _you,_

With your Lutwaffe, your gobbledygoo.

And your neat moustache

And your Aryan eye, bright blue.

Panzer- man, panzer-man, O You-

Not god but a swastika

So black no sky could squeak through.

Every woman adores a Fascist,

The boot in the face, the brute

Brute heart of a brute like you."

From "DADDY" by Sylvia Plath 

*********************    

Faith stood in the centre of her room and looked around.  After last night she had more or less come to terms with the fact that she was stuck here, at least for the next few months.  Which meant the décor of this room was going to change.

First the huge sappy paintings of vases of flowers were going, she could send for one of her own seascapes to replace it.  She was also going to get rid of the talking mirror.  Although, to be fair, it had been less of a problem since she had held up her boot, pointed out that she had had at least twenty one years of bad luck, wasn't optimistic about the next seven, so exactly how strong was its desire to talk?

She actually felt better since she banished the ugly goblets to the top of the wardrobe and started drinking from her own glasses.  Or the bottle.

But she knew that 'better' is very a relative term.  She turned towards the table and extracted a magazine from the papery chaos that always followed her everywhere.

This months addition of _"Dark Defences"_ had turned up today.  It was the glossy (New and Updated!!!) defence magazine.  Very respected.  Accused of dumbing down in recent years, but still the crucial text for all those who worked with curses.

 And, amidst the adverts for strengthening potions, new reports of Death Eater activity and Auror recruitment campaigns, was a report entitled, Rhys Llewllyn: A Retrospective.

Of course Faith knew it was fairly inevitable.  He was the only person to ever really come close to making a breakthrough on the Cruciatus curse.  It was inevitable someone would exhume him, if even a school girl could make the connection…  She curled up in the armchair in the huge bay window, and began to read.

The article put a fairly positive spin on Rhys's work, but to her relief, had acknowledged what every other critic had.  Repeatedly casting Cruciatus on someone does not make them resist it.  There was a gaping hole in the research.  Some suspected, but had never managed to prove, that Rhys had managed to fill it.

Faith looked at the photographs.  There were two, the main one was very large, and of the Bastard collecting some prize. The other was more painful.  Over the side column of his biography there was a picture of the three of them.  Faith's younger self was leaping around in it, waving and smiling hyperactively.  Her mother was holding her shoulder and smiling, in a mix of pride and exhaustion.  Rhys was standing beside them in his fine purple and gold Ministry robes.

She remembered that photograph being taken.  So much time had been spent taming her hair, cleaning chocolate off her mouth, banishing grass stains from her white robe, that she had thought the day was all about her.

There had been strawberry ice cream.

There had been a nice lady who smelt like vanilla.

She couldn't remember what her father had done to lead to the photograph.

She had been five.

There had been strawberry ice cream.

One month later her mother had been raped and tortured by Death Eaters.

Faith had had to replace her mother in her father's affections.  She had effectively become her father's wife, confidant and companion.

She slammed the magazine shut and felt it flutter though her fingers to the floor.  She slugged back some whisky and tried to get back her rusty breathing.

She had to lose this sensitivity.  Especially if he was going to be dredged up again.  Faith drummed her fingers against the wood, the same endlessly repeated pattern over and over again.  She sipped more whisky and tried to think clearly.   

The article had not called for more investigation into Rhys's work.  It had not requested that his notes be made public.

It was subtler than that.

Just reminded people about him.  She knew more articles would appear by Christmas.  Articles that would be far more vehement in their calls for his work and findings.

She stood up and pressed her forehead against the window frame.  It was three o'clock and completely deserted outside, the students were still in lessons.  The trees hung limply in the heat.  No breeze moved the air around.  Nothing shifted in the parched grass.

But the oily clouds in the sky were getting bigger.  They were slinking between the mountains and creeping over the trees.  It reminded Faith of some medical slides she had been shown once.  A malignant virus spreading through the clean blood stream.

Faith looked down at her knuckles.  They were clenched and white, and as she uncurled her fists she saw little bloody half moons where her nails had dug into her palms.  No one could get at Rhys's notes.  They had been buried in the family vault since his death.  She faced the encroaching clouds.  Despite this it would probably be safer to bring them here.

Then no one would ever find them.


	16. 16) A Pointless Week

Thanks to Kbear for reviewing and Liz for betaering!  Random note, I've been thinking of making an updates list, several of the stories I review have them, and was wondering if any of you cared enough to be on there!  If you do leave a review telling me so.  (This is in no way an attempted bribe to make you review!) Chapter 16 

Faith would always remember the next week in terms of dust.  

Dusty books, dusty files, dusty newspapers.  Endless hunting for a suitable candidate, a suitable precedent.

And it was so dry and so, so boring.

The heat just got more and more suffocating as the clouds piled up and up.

Everyone in the castle moped around miserably in the hot weather.  Hairstyles drooped, Quidditch was effectively cancelled and no one ran, or even laughed much.  It was too hot to waste the energy.

And all this heat Faith, Snape and Blackthorn existed in clouds of dust.

Faith forced herself to begin exercising again.  She needed to build up her drained strength and wasted muscles, but her pathetic performances were so depressing she found herself drinking more booze than ever.  Minerva was still advising against her transforming.

Snape truly believed that if he had to read about one more idiotic, botched coup from five fucking fifty AD he was going to scream.

There were two minor bright spots in life.  One was that even this heat had a hard time surviving in the dungeons.  This meant the Slytherins were, for once, the most cheerful people in the school.

The other was the meeting they had had in Blackthorn's apartments.  They had ascertained at the start that no one had got anywhere, after this they had had quite a pleasant, alcoholic evening.

The one possible candidate they had had been rejected because they were a member of the Yorks, one of the Eight Families.  

As faith had explained to Blackthorn,

"The Eight Families used to run the Country.  They would rule, with absolute power, their area.  For instance we Llewllyns had Wales, the Snapes the North West, the Macbeths Southern Scotland etc…

"Now they fought, married and fucked each other over, for more than two thousand years.  An each member will always be more loyal to their family than any cause."

She raised an eyebrow.  "In theory anyway!"

There had been laughter then.  Faith it seemed had hardly met any of her family.  Snape had, but hated them.  He was actually the Head, and was therefore supposed to run the damn thing, but since he refused to acknowledge their existence, and sold off half the land, the Snapes hated him as much as he hated them.

He remembered Faith's laughter at that, it had managed to carry like chimes in the tepid air.

Faith had had two nightmares that week.  The first she had been able to deal with, but the second had been agony.  She had say hunched in the cold bath water for hours, rocking herself and trying not to break down and weep.  She had screamed so much that whisky had scalded her throat.

There had been a Death Eater attack on the wizard community in Manchester.  A meeting to discuss local Death Eater activity had been blown up.  Five died.

It had been a horrible week.

***************************       

That Friday morning you could actually taste the static in the air.  The sky was almost black with dirty, sodden clouds that looked like they were going to burst.  There had already been three bursts of spells from the children and even Flitwick had flipped and given out detentions.

Snape knew, with absolute certainty, that the rain was going to come crashing down today.  There was no way the atmosphere could support this heat.

He nodded at Faith as she slipped in beside him at breakfast.  

She picked at some fruit and the glanced over at his goblet.

"Since when have the house elves served grapefruit juice?"

"Since I asked them," he sneered back at her.

She swilled the sticky, orange liquid round her own glass.  

"I hate pumpkin juice."

"Well ask for something different then!"

She looked at him angrily.  Then she began to scrape bits of melon round her bowl.  The noise of the metal fork scrapping the china bowl screeched across his brain.  What made it worse was the fact that she must know just how annoying it was.

He began to tap his fingers.  He had developed this rhythm ages ago.  You never just tapped, you tapped out of time.  Tap tip Tap.  Tip Tip Tap.  Tap tap Tip.  He had put a spell on the clock in his office to do the same.  Within five minuets it would turn anyone's brain to sludge.

Faith scratched her fork across the china even louder.  It squeaked worse than nails ripped down a blackboard.

Snape shifted, he mustn't react, mustn't tell her to stop.  That was just the reaction she wanted.

He was saved by the appearance of Blaise Zabini crossing in front of the staff table.  Faith sighed softly and the faintest ghost of a smile glimmered on her lips.  She glanced up at Snape.

"He does look like his brother."

"Yes.  I'd noticed.  After teaching him for, well this is the seventh year now, I'd managed to make the connection."

She was going to respond when Hooch cut in,

"You know Adagio Zabini?" 

"Yes, he was in my year."

"Oh right!  I met him a few years ago."

The two women seemed to share a conspiratorial look that made Snape clench his fingers.  What was worse was he didn't know why it bothered him.

"He was my partner at the Yule Ball."  Faith was saying in a voice that sounded far too deliberately casual to Snape.  "That's my claim to fame!"

Hooch laughed and said, 

"Good company isn't he?"

Faith smirked, "Very."

They both sniggered.  Snape took a gulp of his coffee.  It didn't bother him, and he wasn't going to let it bother him.  He wasn't quite sure why their conversation should bother him, well obviously it didn't.  He took another gulp to try and drown the twist in his stomach in coffee.

"Have you heard from him at all?"

He turned round and looked down at Faith, trying and completely failing, to read her face.

"No."  And then, because he was in foul mood and was feeling inexplicably hostile towards Adagio Zabini added, "He's too busy trying to rule the world."

Hooch reacted as expected and raised a worried eyebrow.  Snape just shrugged.

Faith cut in, "Oh for God's sake Adagio's not a bloody Death Eater!  He's trying to rule the World completely legally."  She paused and considered that sentence.  "Mostly legally."

Snape snorted.

They ate the rest of the meal in silence.  But as Faith stood up she leant over to brush the crumbs from her place.  Her hair fell forward and Snape felt it brush his shoulder.  He breathed in sharply, and caught a breath of a soft, light scent.  As she drew back a few of her hairs swept over his cheek like a spider web.

But then the presence and the scent was gone with the arrival of the owls.

A few letters dropped around him, and through the melee he saw a scrawny barn owl fly down and drop a letter into Faith's hand.  The owl then flew up to the table and dropped one right in Snape's goblet.  Grapefruit juice splashed across his hand, and he groaned as he wiped it off fastidiously before opening out the soggy letter.

Dear Severus 

_I am sorry to trouble you, but, and I do hate admitting this, I need your help._

_This may be nothing of course, but last week the Wolfsbane potion was not as effective as usual.  It was only slight, but something was wrong.  I would really appreciate being able to see you before next month.  Let me know._

_If Faith asks you about this, and you can be sure she will, I have no objection to you answering.  Although I suppose that wouldn't actually make any difference to whether you would or not._

_Thanks._

_Remus_

Snape groaned.  Just another thing going hideously wrong.  Great.

A.N.  There is always a possibility that Snape is fan of Terry Pratchett's Discworld books.  And from there borrowed the idea of an out of time clock designed to turn the brain of anyone around it too long to mush.  He would like to thank Mr.  Pratchett very much for the idea!


	17. 17) Change

Thanks loads to Tegan and Kbear for your reviews!  It was a big relief that people hadn't just forgotten this story while FF.net was out of action!  And yes this is going to be a series, I'm addicted now.  In this chapter something actually happens!  Wow!  Chapter 17 

 That evening Faith changed into a long white linen dress.  It was silly, diaphanous and far too pretty, but it was also the loosest and coolest thing she owned.  It wouldn't stick to her and that was all she cared about in this heat.

There was barely anyone about as she walked through the castle, life had stopped, been suspended in the heat like a creature floating in formaldehyde.

Outside it was utterly deserted.  She didn't really know where, if anywhere, she wanted to go, but just drifted through the heat that pressed around her.  You could drown in it, she thought, if you let yourself.  If you closed your eyes, and only breathed in this sodden air, surely you would drown?

She sat down and hunched her legs up to her chest.  Don't think.  Don't breath.  Stay absolutely calm, the epitome of self control.  It will be okay then.  She could feel her shoulders shaking, but no tears leaked from her dry eyes.

"Don't think," she whispered to herself.  Don't think about this new nagging worry about Remus.  Don't think about the guilt he's inflicted on you by mentioning the one other friend you have and the way you haven't written to her in months, one more thing to be guilty about in a life saturated with guilt.  Don't think about your father.  Don't think, don't think, don't think.

From somewhere in the distance came a low rumble of thunder.  She looked up and a streak of silver lightning stabbed down through the sky.  There was another blast of thunder, but much closer this time, rolling through the hills.

A splash of rain hit her forehead.  Then another, then another.  All these drops of cold water were suddenly falling around her!  They came quicker, harder and in a minute they were pouring down.

The thunder smashed and the lightning split the sky like a scream.  The landscape shook as the heat of the Summer was thrown violently out of the atmosphere, and smashed into the World.

Faith knelt up and raised her face to the rain.  It ran down her face, into her eyes, her mouth, across her cheeks.  It ran down her chest and soaked her dress.

She could something strange stirring inside her, bubbling up in her lungs and her heart.  The new feeling made her throat swell and she tried to swallow it, but then it escaped in a belch of noise…

Laughter!  Real hysterical, insane laughter!  She felt her head fall forward and wrapped her arms around her stomach, her whole body was shaking!  

She hadn't laughed, really laughed, in this deep, cathartic way for so long, so unbearably long.  She didn't even recognise this irrepressible feeling.

She stood up shakily and, still laughing at herself, at everything, at the thunder, at the glorious, free, wild, pouring rain!

She held out her arms and let the rain drench her.  The dress stuck to her, closed on her waist and clung to her legs.  She couldn't stop laughing!

She began to spin round and round in the rain.  Dancing with the sheer joy of the freedom!  She kicked off her sandals and squelched her toes in the mud.  She splashed in the rapidly forming puddles, she kicked up jets of spray, she laughed!

It was utterly ridiculous of course, this dangerous loss of control, utterly stupid.  But oh it was so good, so right!  The cold, gorgeous drops of water.  The dress that moved against her like an extension of her body, the soft mud under her feet, and the bubbling, deep laughter that made her body shake.

She tripped then, fell in the mud and lay there panting.  The rain began to fall less forcefully now.  The cleansing after the exorcism.  She staggered back to her feet, put her hands on her hips and giggled childishly at the sight of herself.

Soaked, dripping and muddy.  She gave one final, defiant laugh, picked up her sandals and made her way shaky way up to the castle.

She didn't realise it of course but her laughter had just caused a new storm.  The laughter and dancing had created new clouds that were gathering in the air.

Nothing was ever going to be the same again and she didn't even know it yet.

************************       

It was too hot to be doing this Snape thought, as he drifted around the outskirts of the forbidden forest.  He had to collect some Hydra Moss for tomorrow's lesson.  It had to be picked fresh.

The humidity was so intense he couldn't cope with robes.  He had made sure he was invisible before leaving his chambers without them.  You don't spend years prowling around like a vampire to then throw the image away when the weather gets hot.

The heat was painful.  His mind felt like it was full of cotton wool.  His damp silk shirt clung against his skin, and he'd had to awkwardly tie his hair back to keep it out oh his eyes.

He began to walk back, trying to think, but the heat drained coherence away.  As he trudged forward he noticed a white figure curled up in a ball.  He began to move closer, but then the thunder cracked through the air.  He stopped, frozen, silent.  The lightning sliced the sky apart.  He watched the figure raise its head, and as the red hair tumbled down realised it must be Faith. The second role of thunder jerked him forward and he began to walk quickly towards her.

The rain began to hit him and he was about five metres away from her when she began to laugh.  And the laugh pinned him to the spot.  He may as well have been hit with the lightning that was smashing around them.

He had never heard her laugh before.  If this was her real genuine laugh, every other chuckle, snigger or scornful bark was a shadow of this.  It was as if he had never heard anyone laugh before.

She stood up.  Rain was drenching him completely but he didn't even notice.  Her laughter was so hysterical, from somewhere so deep inside her.  She looked so young!

And then she began to dance, twisting and spinning in the rain.  Innocent and childlike, but the soaked, clinging dress showed off just how clearly she wasn't a child.  The dress clung to her like a second skin in the downpour.  His mouth was totally dry.  He could watch her dancing, laughing, splashing like this forever.

He watched her hands run across her arms, her stomach, her legs.  Watched her revelling in the freedom.  He didn't think he had ever seen anything so sensual, so unconsciously erotic.  He wondered if he could actually stand up any longer.  Would she realise if he just collapsed, slid down into the brand new mud?  Would she care if he dragged her down with him?  Was he breathing?  Yes he was, his breath was rasping in time with her helpless, burning laughter was this real?

He felt like he was on fire as she seemed to pick up the pace of the dancing.  His blood was boiling and every breath of wind, every drop of water was like fire on his sensitised skin.  She threw back her head and it was too much, too like she was crying out, and then she spun one last time and collapsed.

Somehow he forced himself to breath quietly, to not move.  He watched her heaving chest, the little gasps escaping from her lips.  She slowly, shakily picked herself up and seemed to look straight at him before surveying the state of herself. 

Her hair was plastered against her face, her cheeks were flushed burnt pink.  He gulped as he saw she may as well have been naked, the dress was wrapped around her so tightly.  He could only stop himself making some reaction by biting down on his lip so hard the blood spilled into his mouth.  His eyes took in her neck, her shoulders, her arms, oh God, her breasts with the perfect dark nipples showing through the sodden, her waist that must have been made for his hands to close around, her hips, thighs, calves and bare, tempting, naked feet…

The last, defiant laugh that seemed to discard the entire Universe, managed to send another jolt of lightning hot heat through him.

He watched her walk away.  And then let himself breathe out.  Eventually he managed to move.

 The storm had come, and it had struck, and it had blown everything normal away.       


	18. 18) Denial

Thank you to Tegan and Sweetness for their lovely reviews!  I really do appreciate this!  But most of all thanks to Liz, because this is a far, far better chapter because of her input!  Go read her stories, they under the pen name Laura Beth, they really are excellent!

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Chapter 18- Denial

The rain was reaping its revenge.  It had been kept caged all Summer and was now hurling itself around the castle towers, ripping at the forest and pounding the lake.

Faith watched it stream down the window, it was like a veil over the landscape, hiding them from the outside world.  She sank back into her chair with a shiver.

A mug of steaming hot coffee was placed in front of her.

Dumbledore stirred his hot chocolate, sipped, breathed out slowly in pleasure and then asked her how she was getting on.

Trying to ignore the high pitched squeaking going on under her nose, Faith nodded,

"Fine."

"Really?"

"Yes.  I do feel a lot better."  Almost true.  Not exactly a lie, physically she was getting a lot better.

Dumbledore began to thoughtfully chew some strawberry liquorish.  To Faith's disgust he dunked it in his hot chocolate before pushing it towards her.

"Liquorice?"

She took a sting and there was a long silence punctuated by noisy chewing.  Eventually Faith swallowed most of it and said stickily,

"Why strawberry?"

"Pardon?"

"I mean why not raspberry?  I prefer raspberries to strawberries."

"Do you?  Why?"

"Dunno.  They're not as sweet."

More chewing and Faith tried to subtly dig out sugary goo from around her teeth.

"Before you tell me why you asked me here there's something I want to ask you Albus."

"Oh?"

Faith shook her hair back and clenched her jaw.

"I want to rent a room in Hogsmeade."

Dumbledore's face twisted and he began to chew some more liquorish.  It dangled out of his mouth like a thin, red worm.  Faith gritted her teeth, breathed in, and carried on.

"I'm just so exhausted being nice to everyone the whole time."

"Are you?"

"Yes!"  she yelled, ignoring the double meaning in his comment.  "There's people everywhere!  It's suffocating, and so noisy!  And I have to be 'on my best behaviour' the whole time.  It's driving me crazy."

"You and Remus were in each other's pockets for nine months.  You must have been nice to him then."

"It was one person, we squabbled loads and he doesn't take insults personally."

"Yes, it is extremely annoying when people do that." 

Faith ignored him and ploughed on.

 "So I thought, maybe, because Hogwarts is so crowded the entire time I could rent a room in Hogsmeade.  I wouldn't go there very often.  Just a few days, now and again.  Just to be on my own."

"You can be on your own in your rooms here."

"I know, but, they aren't mine.  I've borrowed them."

Dumbledore sighed, I have serious reservations about your health, but I suppose if it means you are more civil to people then it'll be fine.

"Thank you," she said icily.  Independence shouldn't be so hard to win.

There was a long, awkward, silence.  Faith gulped at the coffee and winced as she spilt some down her jumper.  

"Well I did ask you up here for a reason Faith.  Now what was it…?"  He scratched under his hat and little shots of glitter, like sparkly dandruff, fell from his head.  Faith sighed and squirmed impatiently at the 'stupid old man' act.

"Ah yes.  I have a favour to ask you."

Faith's stomach sank.  This was so unlikely to be good.

Dumbledore walked over to the window.  His long, gnarled fingers traced the patterns of the rain on the glass.

"War is expensive Faith.  Hogwarts has never managed to not exceed its budget in its entire history, so I really cannot redirect many funds from that.

He groaned and slouched back in his chair.  Fawkes staggered across the desk.  His feathers were ragged and grey as his burning time grew closer.  He turned his watery eyes to Faith and mewled softly.

"There are many Aurors who would come and work with us but, quite simply, cannot afford to.  The ministry pays better."

"And it is has funds for the inevitable widows and children!"

The joke withered and died under Dumbledore's stare.

"Quite.  So Faith, as one of the richest people I know, how much can you donate?  I mean I know Hogsmead is an expensive address, but a simple room shouldn't dent the budget of a millionaires surely?"

He was smiling again with brightly twinkling eyes, but the skin beneath them was thin and dark.

Faith curled a lock of her hair in her fingers and took a deep breath before speaking.

"I'm not actually as rich as people think I am."

Dumbledore looked at her sceptically.

"No!  Really I'm not!  When my Grandfather split from the main Llewllyn family they did their best to disinherit him and his _muggle_ wife.

"I don't know if he was involved with my Great Grandfather's rather, um, suspicious death, but it was certainly convenient.  He wouldn't have got a knut if he'd died any later…"

Her voice drifted off, and then she shook her head and scowled.  

"Then of course my father was, a _gamblin' man_," she put on an exaggerated American accent, and sneered, "Its amazing how much money a multi millionaire can lose."

Fawkes trotted across the desk and looked at her accusingly, she shuffled a bit, then shrugged. 

 "And of course when I was young I was hardly, well, a modal of decorum."

"Faith you seemed to be trying to redefine hedonism."  Dumbledore noted that most twenty five year olds would probably not view being young as a thing of the past.

"Yes, well, so that lost me a lot of money."  Her face flushed at the memories.  "But obviously I can and will help, I just need to budget it out."

"That's wonderful, whatever you can give…"

"Well its for my benefit too isn't it?"  She snapped sharply and stood up to walk out.  She was embarrassed at the praise she didn't think she deserved, and angry that it had been given.  Of course all members of the Eight Families were so fucking miserly that when they volunteered some money they obviously needed extensive praise.  Fucking stupid stereotypes.

She opened the door and walked straight into Snape who had his hand raised to knock.

He started back and stared at her in shock.  She squirmed, feeling pinned like a scientific specimen under his gaze.  She met his eyes, but he didn't move, just stared at her with a totally unreadable expression on his face.

Weirdo, she thought.  She moved round to let him walk past.  He seemed to circle her as though he was afraid of getting to close, then collapsed in a chair and looked down at the floor.

******************************           

Oh God in fucking heaven, Snape thought as he sunk into an armchair.  After waking up the morning after the rain, hard as hell, and with the image of Faith still dancing and laughing round his brain, he'd resolved to avoid her for the next week.  It was only a silly fancy anyway.  Live like a monk for years, surrounded by precocious adolescents and teachers twice his age, and you were bound to react to the first remotely sexual thing you saw.  The whole thing came from sex deprivation.  So he'd resolved to avoid her for a week to stop it turning into a crush or anything stupid like that.

But oh no, she had to be here didn't she?  With those big eyes and pink spots on her cheeks that always flared up when she was angry or passionate…

Oh no.  Not going there.

It wasn't like she was even that pretty!  Except when she laughed… 

He realised Dumbledore was staring at him and he shook his head.  She would probably come and see him to ask about Lupin anyway.  Probably best to get that out of the way now.

"Miss Llewllyn?"  

"Oh for goodness sakes Severus!"  Dumbledore snapped "Aren't you two on first name terms yet?  She's a woman not a student!"

Thanks for pointing that out Albus.  Yes, I saw her dancing round in the rain and she is very definitely a woman.  A young woman with the kind of body I haven't been near in years.

He managed to hold that back though and just sneered, "Really?  My powers of observation are obviously waning."

"And it's Ms, not Miss anyway."

"What?"  He turned his head towards her, but not so far he could actually see her.

"I don't want my name, and therefore identity defined by my relationship to men.  Nobody owns me."

Snape shrugged and dismissed this.  Whatever.

"Faith, then, I presume you want to ask me about Lupin?"

He didn't look up at her properly, just raised his head slightly.  He could sense her hovering on the outskirts of his vision, and she must have moved forward because her jeans and boots came into view.  He trailed his gaze further up her body.  Why wear muggle clothes?  Surely robes were far more modest?  They didn't show off those long, gazelle, legs.  Robes would never hug her hips like those terrible jeans that left his mouth dry.    He looked down at the arm of the chair again before she could do something stupid.  Like laugh.

"Yes,  I do.  What's happening?  Do you know?"

Oh a hint of emotion there!  A real urgency underneath her usual bored drawl.  

He looked up at the ceiling.  Very interesting ceiling.  Sort of cherry wood colour, but presumably cherry wood wouldn't be strong enough?  All carved arches, fruits, leaves, fleur-de-lis…  

"He's becoming immune to the potion.  As I said from the start he would."

"As you've said from all along since receiving that letter the other morning?"  Spiteful cow.  Spiteful cow wearing a bloody, small, V-neck jumper.  Very simple, black jumper.  Only that seemed to be all she was wearing.  Just light material next to her skin.  Under robes it would be okay, but it was indecent to show that amount of skin, that long white throat…  Robes also hid, certain, reactions.  Oh shit, oh not here! 

"No, he really has,"  Dumbledore sighed, and looked over at Snape.  Snape nodded over enthusiastically.  Dumbledore gaze became confused and then the eyes began to twinkle!  He actually had the audacity to twinkle at him!  He scowled fiercely and went back to lecturing the ceiling.

"It's like any other drug.  After awhile his body becomes immune, the dose must be altered for it to be effective."

"So it can be altered?" 

"Maybe."

"Maybe!"

"The properties of Wolfsbane are both volatile and dangerous.  Altering the dosage would be very risky.  I'm sure you'd object if we reduced him to a state of catatonia."

He looked up at her without thinking and saw the angry flush spread over her cheeks, her eyes flashed furiously.

Ah, see it was fine.  He could look at her with no problems at all.  None.  Hah!

"Thanks Severus."  She hissed his name and swept out of the room.  

He watched her go and mentally shrugged.  Just a stupid fancy.  It would be over in no time.       


	19. 19) Life's Not Fair

Hey chickens! Thanks loads to Laura Beth for making this readable, now you all should go and read her wonderful stories, go shoo, shoo! Thank you also to Sweetness for reviewing. I have started a new Snape/Hermione story if anyone's interested! Please read and review as always!  
  
  
  
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Chapter 19 - Life's Not Fair  
  
Faith collapsed on the sofa and buried her face in the cushions. She knew she was going to have another attack tonight. She could feel the curse sliding up her spine, her hands were trembling so much she couldn't even hold a glass, and cold sweat was pouring off her. There was no way of stopping it or bringing it forward, she was stuck waiting, waiting, waiting!  
  
There was a possible bright spot though. Snape apparently had a potion that clamed hysteria, it was especially designed for hysteria brought on by magic. But it was another way she was loosing her self sufficiency. She had been stitching herself together after years of depression, addiction and pain when it was all ripped out of her by the curse. She had been made helpless again. And even though she knew how useful the potion could be, how important it might be, it still bruised her. It was another reminder of her inability to keep control of herself.  
  
She stared at the glass in her hand. In St. Mungo's they had made them drink from paper cups and eat with plastic knives and forks. Windows not on the ground floor had bars across. Faith had never, ever felt so demeaned, so helpless in her life. It was terrifying to rely on someone else to preserve the freedom she had.  
  
And sickening to know that, if she was sane enough, she would probably run along like a good little girl, and collect her new medicine. But what else was there to do?  
  
She had just had a scalding hot bath, it had made her feel slightly better, but now she was back to being a nervous wreck.  
  
She tried to read, but the words skittered about under her eyes, and wandered all over the page. She couldn't fucking focus! She threw the book across the room and it bounced across the table, scattering papers and maps.  
  
She tried to tidy them but they fell through her fingers.  
  
She opened the windows because the rain had stopped and she thought that maybe, maybe, if the room was cold the attack wouldn't be so bad? It had always been so hot before! Even in the little room in St. Mungo's with the blood that dripped all over the floor!  
  
She was too hot, then too cold, then too hot, then too cold, then too hot again!  
  
She picked up her letter to Eloise. All she'd written so far was,  
  
Dear Eloise  
  
She drew a doodle of a wine glass in the corner, then a broken wine glass, then a dagger, then a dagger covered in blood. Then she threw the pen down in disgust.  
  
Her relationship with Eloise, her only other friend apart from Remus, was difficult.  
  
They had been friends since they were two. But what do you say to someone who has put you to bed, when you've been too drunk to even speak, more times than you can remember? What do you say to someone who has made sure you don't choke on your own vomit after numerous drug overdoses? What do you say to the person who pulled you out of the bath you tried to slash your wrists in, mopped up the blood, healed the wounds and saved you miserable excuse for a life? What do you say? What is there possibly left to say?  
  
What the fuck do you say?  
  
Faith's wrists began to throb and she looked down at the scars. They were pulsing and glowing blood red. It would hit soon.  
  
She staggered up and went to the window. She was so hot! Could only cope with wearing this silly, silky nightdress. It stuck to the sweat on her skin. She held herself, shivering violently and her teeth chattered loudly in the silence.  
  
Silence! Too much silence! She ran across the room, tripped over a pile of newspapers and grabbed her violin. She hugged it for a moment, and then swung into playing. The music throbbed out of her as she launched into the last movement of Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique. Here the composer, drugged on opium, imagined the witches, demons and ghouls, who danced with him, tormented him, burnt him and fucked him. She spun into a series of spiralling, circling, Eastern European folk songs, she ran into the primal, throbbing beat of the music from Carmen, she played and played and played as she raced the nightmares.  
  
Eventually she calmed down, completely exhausted, and sunk into a sad, soft, gentle piece. The music wept and she didn't realise there were tears running down her cheeks as she played out the ache in her body.  
  
As the music drifted away she slid sleepily down into the sofa. Her tired fingers found her dressing gown and pulled it over her body. The violin fell gently out of her hands to the floor as she drifted into sleep.  
  
****************************  
  
Snape was working. He was tending some plants he cultivated for potions behind the castle. None of the students' rooms looked out this way so he was safe from observation and interference.  
  
He was working very hard. Digging with the trowel, yanking up the weeds and pulling at flower heads. He didn't want to stop. If he would be forced to remember the look on Faith's face when Sprout mentioned the calming potion. For a few moments her eyes had shimmered with hope, but then her face shut down and glared at the floor. It had been almost heart breaking to see the way she froze up again. But if he kept working he wouldn't have to see the moment when her eyes turned on him, him, with that tenuous, brief hope.  
  
He would defeat this stupid, stupid crush!  
  
Then, from somewhere above him, came a sudden blast of music.  
  
It built up and crashed around in the air. It was being played on a violin and not perfectly, some of the notes and rhythms were wrong. But this really didn't matter, because it was being played with such frenzy, such sheer passion, that all Snape could do was sit back and listen in shock and something approaching awe, as the mysterious person played and played and played.  
  
And then it faded into a gentle, drifting, nostalgic mood. It was beautiful and tragic and yearning. It brought up half forgotten memories of a certain girl's smile. Of lost Summers when everything had been fresh and new. Of the first moments he saw the different, swirling ingredients melt together, as the perfect potion was created.  
  
He'd heard music before. He'd heard music played live before. But He had never heard so much soul poured into a piece of wood and strings. He didn't feel he could move. He'd never felt music stir him so much before.  
  
Music and magic. Magic and music. Which, in the end, was more powerful?  
  
Finally the music stopped. And then he stood and could only wander home in a daze. How, and who, and why?  
  
********************  
  
She was begging him to stop, but he wouldn't, oh he wouldn't! The Cruciatus curse flowed through her veins and blood and nerves. It made her scream and howl! It made her tear at her skin and try to rip it off!  
  
Stop stop please stop please please!  
  
But maybe she had gone past the point of screaming? Maybe the words were only really in her brain, maybe they weren't leaving her mouth! Maybe that's why he wouldn't stop!  
  
STOP! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! STOP!  
  
It wouldn't stop!  
  
And then she was suddenly somewhere else, but still in so much pain! Where was she? She couldn't see! Why? Why couldn't she see? There was a fog in front of her eyes! She could smell death, flesh rotting in the gloom. There was a man laughing somewhere, she stumbled towards it, and then fell as the hand grabbed her face and punched it over and over again. "Worthless, worthless, stupid, bitch, stupid brat, stupid girl!" Blood exploding in her nose, in her mouth, cheek bones shattering.  
  
From somewhere, from him, his stinking breath on her face, someone's tongue in her mouth, hands ripping off her skirt, blood running from her wrists, falling from the sky as her wings refused to fly!  
  
  
  
She was awake. And lying on something? Something soft? Carpet? Yes, carpet! She was awake! Faith's eyes snapped open and she realised she was on the floor. The panic was still surging through her, she was trembling and couldn't stand without hurting even more!  
  
So hurt, so much pain still. She could feel the Cruciatus and the Nocthorrifica inside her like little pins under her skin. She fell towards the drinks cabinet. She had to make it stop, she had to make it stop!  
  
Snape! Snape had a potion to make it stop!  
  
She spun round and grabbed her invisibility cloak, so no one would see her and curse her, and fled to his rooms. She flew through the corridors, the stone was so cold on her bare feet, and then fell against his door, pounding desperately against the wood.  
  
The door creaked open and Snape stood there in the light.  
  
"Yes, who's there?"  
  
Oh God, yes, she still had the cloak on!  
  
Her fingers trembled as she tried to undo the clasp, but it finally fell down, and it took some ridiculous amount of strength just to keep it hooked on the tips of her fingers.  
  
She was swaying, and tried to explain, but her mouth was full of something thick that tasted like bile.  
  
"Miss, Ms, Faith, what are you doing here? What's happened to you?"  
  
Her neck was full of lead, but she managed to look up.  
  
"Curse, you had potion, curse, hurts."  
  
"Oh God, yes, um, come in."  
  
He opened the door wider for her, but she only managed a few steps before she fell against him. She yelped in pain and jumped back. The contact against her arm felt like being burnt.  
  
She lent against the door frame, and then felt fingers tentatively reach round her and guide her through the rooms to a sofa and a fire place. It hurt, but not as much, it was human contact, that was worth pain.  
  
He knelt in front of her, and said quietly,  
  
"Faith, I'm going to make up the potion, it just needs reheating." She raised her aching eyes to his face, trying to make him realise that he couldn't leave her, that the horrible people would come back.  
  
He whispered softly, "You're shivering, I'll light the fire." He moved and his presence was lost to her. She reached out to find him, but her fingers went through air.  
  
A fire burst into life, and she realised she was cold, the chill seemed to have seeped into her bones.  
  
There was some amount of time, she didn't know how long it was, when she could only sit with her knees hunched up to her chest, staring into the wicked, leaping flames.  
  
A hand held out a glass. It was filled with a pale blue liquid that was scatted with darting sparks of pink and green and gold.  
  
"Drink." Words, a voice in the air.  
  
She followed the instruction. It tasted like Summer, like Sunshine and like rainbows reflected in raindrops.  
  
A hand, probably the same one, closed round her fingers and took the glass. She closed her eyes and lay back on the sofa. She could feel it running through her blood, and cleansing her body.  
  
She opened her eyes and Snape came into focus.  
  
"Feel better?"  
  
She didn't really know the answer, possibly yes. The lingering effects of the Cruciatus were fading, and she felt warm, slowly and gently warmed. It felt nice.  
  
"Yes." Her voice sounded distant.  
  
He gave her a sceptical look and moved away. She meant to turn towards him, panicked and afraid, but whatever was calming her made it seem unnecessary, so she just sat back and stared into the fire.  
  
So cold again. But the warmth was fighting it. But the cold lay on her skin. Oh of course, she was only wearing her nightgown. One of the ridiculously skimpy ones too. She slid from the sofa to curl up in front of the fire on the soft, plush rug. Hopefully he wouldn't mind too much she wasn't wearing any clothes.  
  
The fog in her mind seemed to be clearing, and she managed to look round. This was a different room to the one she'd been in before. It was more homely, more personal.  
  
Something still hurt, her arms, the pain felt real, physical not magical. She looked down and winced. They were covered in small scratches. She must have tried to. Oh she didn't want to know! She scratched herself very, very cruelly though. She hadn't done this to herself for ages, things had been getting better, hadn't they?  
  
The gashes were small but clear. Little wells of dried red blood in the corners of the cuts. Some were turning black. There were several deep purple bruises.  
  
"Severus?"  
  
"Yes?" The soft voice floated from the shadows and knelt down next to her.  
  
Faith realised he looked less formal than she had seen him before. Just a dark, green shirt, with strings at the top. The kind she loved to play with. Black trousers, no shoes. Her eyes ran over his bare, naked feet.  
  
Strange Snape really having skin, he always seemed so swamped in layers of cloth, protection.  
  
Damn foggy head! What was it? Yes!  
  
"Do you have some sort of healing cream? My, um, arms."  
  
He looked down and hissed.  
  
"Yes, I do."  
  
Faith hunched her legs up to her chest and closed her eyes, just enjoying listening to Snape, Severus, whatever, moving around. The sound of cupboards being opened and closed, glass being moved, the rustle of his clothes.  
  
"Here."  
  
She looked up at him and took the pot with a smile.  
  
"One of the unfortunate side effects to Nocthorrifica is being unable to have long nails."  
  
He face twisted but he didn't reply.  
  
She smeared a huge dollop of cream onto her fingers and spread it over her arms. Oh, it was so cold! So soothing! It felt really gentle, caressing too. The cuts healed, the blood disappeared, and the skin knitted together.  
  
When she was done a towel was waved in front of her face. She wiped her hands free of the white cream and smiled up at him awkwardly. He sat back on the sofa behind her.  
  
There was a long silence. It didn't really seem to matter to Faith. She felt safe. It was just the potion, but she felt calm and content to sit here, it was amazing the amount of things that didn't matter.  
  
Then something caught her eye. A vase on the hearth. Absolutely exquisite. Black and green swirls with fine strands of silver running through them. You could stare at them and the interlocking mysterious patterns for ever.  
  
She edged closer, beautiful, beautiful thing! It looked like Transylvanian glass, but couldn't be! The idea that someone could just keep a piece down in some school dungeons was bizarre. Faith had only ever seen pieces in museums, or in the Malfoy's mansion.  
  
"Is that.?"  
  
"Transylvanian? Yes."  
  
"Can I touch it?" Her voice was excited and breathless.  
  
A long pause, then, "Yes."  
  
She stood up slowly and then bent down to pick it up. Gorgeous, simply gorgeous.  
  
"My ambition is to own one of these one day."  
  
He had moved and was suddenly standing so close to her she jumped and could feel his breath on her neck, she could hear him breathing and sense his chest moving.  
  
"I see it's pointless asking if you like it."  
  
"Yes."  
  
What a ridiculously velvet voice he had. Ridiculous.  
  
"It was made in compete darkness. Only when there is no light in the room at all does the silver shine."  
  
Hands reached round her and the back of one of them brushed over the silk. She felt herself shiver at the touch on her skin.  
  
"It's over five hundred years old." As he took it from her, his fingers closed around hers for a few brief seconds. Then the weight was gone and he moved away.  
  
"Few people can truly appreciate it." He stared at her, his eyes seemed to burn.  
  
"I do."  
  
"I know."  
  
They stayed like that for what felt like ages. Faith didn't want to go home. She wanted to stay here, in this warm room with Transylvanian glass and this voice like velvet.  
  
But as well as giving her this dopey, swimming head the potion was making her so sleepy. Her eyelids began to close and she had to fight to keep them open. She had to lean on the mantle piece.  
  
He caught her arm very, very tightly.  
  
"I will have more potion for you in a few days. Now get out of here and go to bed."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
He threw floo powder into the fire and tugged her roughly towards it.  
  
"You won't have to bother me in the middle of the night then."  
  
"Sorry. Sorry Severus."  
  
She smiled up at him. Wonderful name, matched his voice.  
  
"Right. Go to bed."  
  
She stepped into the fire, fell onto her own floor, and tripped into bed.  
  
When had she ever felt this sweetly drowsy and calm before? Wonderful potion, wonderful glass, wonderful.  
  
But she was asleep before she could finish the thought.  
  
**********************  
  
Severus Snape knocked back the whisky in one go. Then another. Then another half just to be on the safe side.  
  
Oh. My. God.  
  
He could still smell her in the air, still sense her everywhere.  
  
Oh. My. God.  
  
He sat down. In the she had been sitting, no reclining, lying back, looking so unbelievably warm and. Really he couldn't think of any words that wouldn't have him running for a cold shower. Not that that would probably do any good at all.  
  
In a twisted way it had been better when she'd first turned up. At least then her grey skin, white lips flecked with blood and sheer bloody terror hadn't been remotely sexy.  
  
It had been shocking though. He hadn't actually seen anyone under the influence of the curse before, and her incredible weakness and distress had been awful. She'd been some horrible spectre of the woman he knew.  
  
But then she'd drunk the damn potion, and then he'd realised just how skimpy and revealing that nightdress was. How it showed so much skin, but not quite enough. How easy it would be to snap those tiny strings that held it up!  
  
He needed more whisky.  
  
And the smell of her. The sweat and fear, and the soft flowery scents left over from the bath or shower. The mix was so potent, so intensely arousing.  
  
It really wasn't fair.  
  
And then she had asked for that cream. He'd actually been almost been horrified by the horrible cuts all over her arms. But then she'd started rubbing, massaging the cream into her skin, and enjoying it so damn much!  
  
But that really wasn't his fault. It really wasn't his fault if people rubbing glistening creams onto skin had other, connotations. Or if the little sighs of pleasure she'd made went straight to his libido. Oh Gods, he'd have killed to have been able to rub that cream all over her arms himself!  
  
The towel had been his fault though. It had seemed like a sensible thing to do. Excess cream, therefore she needed something to wipe it off with, that preferably wasn't his extremely expensive Indian rug, or that wonderful, midnight blue nightdress. But the sight of her wiping sticky white stuff off her hands, had also had other, connotations.  
  
Oh he really was doomed, the fucking bitch! Why did she have to come down here, in the middle of the night with that silk gown, sticking, yes sticking, to her skin. It was not fair.  
  
More whisky, Snape thought, desperately need more whisky.  
  
And all those doped out little smiles. She hardly ever smiled nicely. But all those little smiles, all coming from the cannabis in the potion of course, had been, just, oh. There weren't words. She would never smile at him like that again. Or laugh.  
  
The glass dropped from his hands onto the rug.  
  
He was so tired, but would never sleep. He could predict his dreams too accurately.  
  
Horrible curse, horrible. How it turned her so vulnerable. Big eyes that were so scared. Should have turned her away, he thought as the whisky began to dissolve his still functioning brain cells.  
  
Life wasn't fair. 


	20. 20) Accidents, past and present

Thank you to Tegan and Laura Beth for their reviews!  Thank you also to Laura Beth for her help and advice with this chapter.  You finally get a bit of Faith's past in this one, I'm curious as to how you all react to it. Chapter 20 

Sheer mind numbing embarrassment led to Faith avoiding Snape, or Severus as he was beginning to call himself in her head, for the next few days.

Her visit down to his to rooms was a slightly hazy memory, but she remembered smiling a lot.  And sitting on the floor.  And all in all displaying a near total lack of dignity.  It was extremely humiliating.  And the state she'd turned up in the first place!  Sweating, shaking, virtually in tears with no self control at all.  And what had possessed her to wear that nightdress?  Humiliating.

But there was no way she was doing without this potion now she had found it.  The way it eased through away the pain and terror had been… well… miraculous wasn't too strong a word.  She had no way of knowing how long the curse would stay in her body, but she would swallow anything that promised to make it slightly more bearable.  She also felt much better the next day, she was considerably stronger.

On the down side that was the first time in a while she had actually scratched herself so badly.  In the hospital they had had to put her in a straight jacket so she didn't slit her own wrists or scratch out her eyes.  She still had faint bite marks on her wrists from where she had tried to rip the veins out with her teeth.

So this potion, was, in the unlikely event there were any gods, a god send.  But if it was going to make her wander round like a dazed hippy she wanted to do it in private.

She had been almost overwhelmingly relieved when Snape had cornered her at lunch, and told her to come and see him in the evening to get a large batch he had prepared.  It had taken a huge amount of effort to keep her expression neutral.

So, here she was.  Banging on Snape's door and hoping like hell he wouldn't mention her pathetic, out of control conduct.  

That didn't seem immensely likely.

She heard him snap at her to come in, and walked into the usually immaculate laboratory.  Usually immaculate, right now it was filled with billowing, rancid, blue smoke.

"My God, what are you making?"

"Termination potion," an acid voice replied.  A hand emerged from the smoke and pulled her away from the cauldron.

Faith gulped as the familiar smell hit her.  Horrible, she felt suddenly sick and dizzy.  She shook her head to try and clear out the fumes, and felt him pull her out of the cloud and push her onto a bench.

"Are you alright?"

She glanced up blearily at Snape.  He was looking at her with his usual expression of mild disgust and complete unconcern.

Shaking her head she managed to mutter,

"Fine."

He shrugged and turned to wash his hands.  Funny really.  He had much broader shoulders than you'd expect.  She shook her head again, bloody smell.  Actually why wasn't he wearing any protective clothing?  He only had that fine, linen shirt on…

Faith screwed up her eyes.  Bizarre, Snape's clothes were not an interesting topic.  Unless you enjoyed soliloquies on the colour black.  And yet more black.  And the many different shades of black…

A glass of water was slammed down on the table next to her.  A drop of it flew over the side and landed on her hand.

"Drink this."

"You're in a charming mood today."  She sipped the water, it felt like ice running down her throat.  "Thanks."

He turned away from her and she decided that since he was obviously determined to be a bastard, she could be an evil bitch right back.

"Why are you making termination potion anyway?  Knocked up one of the students?"

He paused and she saw the muscles in his back tense up, then he turned back to her and drawled softly,

"Your pathetic attempt at humour is as deeply sad as it is crude."

"And you're being a total bastard today, but am I complaining?"  

"It must deeply trouble my parents to have the validity of their marriage questioned as often as they do.  I however could not give a damn."

Faith was annoyed to find she couldn't think of a retort to that and decided to just sit there until he finished cleaning up.  Since she had no wish to go and inspect the shelves of slimy things in jars, she began to watch Snape.

He moved very gracefully through the haze of smoke.  Elegant really.  Elegant and arrogant.  He bent over the sink briefly and Faith realised he must exercise or something because, quite frankly, his arse was…

Two thoughts struck her at the same time.  The first one was she was looking at Snape's arse, and that was a twisted and sick thing to do.  The other was that he when he straightened up in second he was going to bash his shoulder on that shelf really, really hard!  And then, just as he did this, she saw the jar jump, tilt and fall straight into the cauldron below… 

"Severus look out!"  She yelled and leapt up, but it was too late!  The jar had crashed into the potion and it splashed everywhere in a purple, toxic haze.

Snape jumped back, but the burning liquid covered his front, instantly bleaching the black shirt white.  He cried out in pain and staggered backwards against a bench.

Faith ran forward and pointed her wand at the fires under the cauldrons,

"Extinguisho!"  

She then grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the billowing smoke to the room next door.  She slammed the door shut and put a sealing charm on it, before spinning round to face him.

"Get your shirt off!"

"What?"  He looked stunned.

"Your shirt!  Get it off!"  She ran forward and began tugging at the linen that hadn't been bleached.

"What?  What the hell are you doing?  Ah, God, Fuck!"

He cried out as her hand brushed over the burnt skin.

"You need to get your fucking shirt off!  It's got toxic fucking poison on it!"

Part of Faith's brain seemed to become detached and took control.  The other half panicked.

The cruelly observant part pointed out that he was probably confused because he wasn't used to young women trying to undress him.

But he suddenly seemed to grasp what was happening and he helped her pull his shirt over his head.  But the laces at the top caught on his nose and in his hair.  Faith swore and ripped the shirt open to get it off.

His (strangely very attractive, her detached mind pointed out,) chest, had pink stains spreading over it.  She swallowed in fright as she saw a slight scratch on his chest beginning to leak and turn purple.

She looked around helplessly.  They were in some sort of bathroom, right, good.  Sink, cabinet, toilet, definitely a bathroom.  Probably attached to the work room in case of accidents like these.  But she didn't know what to do!  She turned frantically towards him and he gasped out,

"Cold water.  Just cold water."

She soaked a flannel in the sink and forced herself to slow down and breathe.  She held her hands in the water for a moment and watched the tiny bubbles float between her fingers.  She had to, just had to, stay calm.

He was sitting on the toilet.  His eyes were fluttering open and closed, and long lashes flickered against his cheeks.

"Severus?"

He nodded shakily and his eyes opened to meet hers.  The pain in them made the panic rise up again, but she managed to whisper,

"Tell me if I hurts okay?"

He nodded and she knelt between his thighs.  The detached mind pointed out the twisted sexual parody this was.  The other part yelled at it to shut up.

She rested the fingertips of her left hand on his stomach and raised her right to his chest.

He gasped as she gently ran the flannel over his chest till the whole of his upper body was soaked.

"Feel better?"

"A bit," he mumbled.

She looked up and forced herself to smile at him.  His eyes were still glassy and feverish, but he was watching her from under heavy eyelids, from under those amazing lashes…

Detached mind hit the other part and pointed out she was being ridiculous.

Faith pulled herself up, running her fingers soothingly up his torso.  She felt his breathing speed up and she murmured at him to be calm, that she was sorry, that it had to hurt.

She raised the flannel to the cut and met his eyes.  He nodded slightly and she dripped water into the scratch.  

He jerked, and a strangled noise of pain came out of his throat.

She dropped her left hand to his thigh to steady him and whispered softly, gently, incoherent words of comfort as she cleaned out the slice in his skin.

Finally his breathing became more normal again and she sighed in relief.  The panic was slowly ebbing away, and Detached Mind was jumping up and down and pointing out that, one, she was now even with Snape, and two it would be a shame if his chest scarred because it was really wonderful to touch.  Soft, smooth skin stretched over hard, wiry muscle.

She swept the flannel down so it passed over his nipple.  She'd lifted her left hand to his waist again and felt a shiver run through his body. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you!"  She looked up at him in alarm and he stared right back at her.  She felt unable to move as she just gazed into those black, searching, staring eyes.

She tried to force herself to move, to tear her gaze away, to do whatever it was she was supposed to be doing.  But breaking the moment wasn't possible, wasn't any sort of option, was no option at all.

Her hands took over where her mind had stopped, and ran the flannel over his chest again, over the nipple.  She felt him shiver again, saw the expression on his face tighten.  She tried to say sorry but the ability of speech, of her mouth doing anything other than closing on his was impossible, was idiotic, was…

That thought stopped her and she looked away, staring at the floor. This was Snape, this was weird and wrong.  She couldn't quite remember why, but it was.

Her hand ran across his chest and over his heart.  It was racing.  Detached Mind was suddenly confused, why was his heart racing?  He didn't seem to be in that much pain anymore?

She didn't like the feel of his heart beating so fast.  It was too vulnerable, too human, too much a sign of the fragile skin and bone that held him and her and everyone together.  Too weak.

She ran the cloth across to the other side of his chest.  She didn't want to hurt him, but didn't have a lot of choice, and the feel of the muscle under her hands was, distracting.  Yes distracting from, well she was supposed to be running her hands over his chest, so it wasn't really distracting.  She loved the scattering of hair too, just perfect, manly, but not too thick.  The way it lead down to the waist band of his trousers too… 

As the cloth moved over his other nipple he shuddered even more and his hand gripped the toilet seat.

That wasn't pain Detached Mind told her.

She stood up suddenly and almost slipped in the water that had dripped onto the floor.

"The smoke, the smoke should have cleared."

"Yes."  His voice seemed to have come from far away.

"Should I, is there, anything more, I mean…"

He stood up shakily and leant on the top of the toilet, shaking his head as though to clear it.  His chest gleamed dripping wet.  Faith felt her mouth go dry.

"No.  I need to see Poppy though."

He stood up straighter, and she was oh so aware of how all the muscles in his chest flexed, and the heat and the pounding of the blood in her body.

"We should probably perform the bubble head charm.  I don't trust the air."

"No."  Yes speech!  Speech was good!  Speech was normal!  Yeh!

He looked down at the torn and stained shirt on the floor.

"That was extremely expensive."

That comment made her snap, she had been terrified and panicked, then crawling with bizarre and completely unexpected lust, her head still ached from the smell of the bloody potion, and that was just enough, she was getting out of here! 

"Well I'm so fucking sorry!  It's such a shame about your bloody, sodding, shirt!  Next time you're covered with a potentially deadly poison I'll just leave you there!  Not that that will matter to you in the slightest, since your clothing budget is obviously far more important than someone helping you!"

She put the charm on herself, stalked out through the room,  slammed the door behind her and marched through the dungeons.

When Faith reached her own rooms she lent against the door and realised she was trembling.  Her heart was beating far too fast, and she felt sick and faint.  Bloody potion, bloody Snape.  She could still smell the termination potion in her hair and on her clothes.  It was a terribly invasive smell, she'd forgotten how much it clung to you, she could even taste it in her mouth, like rotten tar.  The fumes also seemed to have clung to her skin, there was a thin layer of the foul stuff glued to her hands, neck and face.  

She needed a bath.

While the bath was running she knocked back two glasses of vodka.  It might also scald her throat, but it numbed her senses of smell and touch.  The slippery stuff on her skin didn't seem quite as bad and her nose didn't feel so infected.  The vodka also dulled her memories of the mad panic that had run through her blood.

As she soaped up her hair she wondered if all strong potions left this layer of grease on you.  It would explain Snape's complexion anyway. It wasn't like someone who worked his stuff could risk not washing.

Snape.  She ran more hot water and tried to work out her reactions to him.  It was obviously lack of sex.  Her body had decided that not having sex in three years was ridiculous, so she was going to uselessly fixate on someone. 

She took a drag from the vodka bottle.  Life was very different now from when she was twenty two.  At twenty two she been heading for a complete mental breakdown, and already had one suicide attempt behind her.  Her life had been a sprawl of drink, drugs and casual sex.  The mess with Sirus Black escaping, and the necessity of ploughing through the files on the Death Eaters had removed any small hope for humanity she had had.  The whole thing had cumulated in a weekend orgy that she had come out of pregnant and half dead.  It had been the final straw for Eloise, who forced Faith into rehab, and for awhile, things had looked steadier.  Faith had aborted the baby without feeling much more than a twinge of guilt, and life had appeared slightly easier.

As well as breaking off drugs, Faith had also broken off all sexual contact.  She had confirmed her worthlessness with her promiscuity for three years and it had half killed her.  While she was not stupid or optimistic enough to hope for someone 'special' to come along, she had decided to leave sex till she found someone half way decent.  This hadn't happened.  Not that she wanted it to, but her body had clearly decided she should get laid anyway.  

But, Faith squirmed in the water, it was, awkward.  Even the idea of having sex brought back memories.  Of squalid night clubs with stained velvet chairs, grimy alleys with the rain dripping down the walls, backs of cars and vans.  The few times when she hadn't wanted to, but had been too drunk, tired or stoned to resist. When it had been easier to just lie back and stare at the ceiling rather than press the word no, not exactly rape, but…

She was twenty five and the last time she had sex with any sort of meaning to it she had been nineteen.  And that had all ended in tears.

When she had once, falteringly and drunkenly, tried to explain it all to Dumbledore.  He had said she shouldn't feel guilty about the whole thing.  It had been the deep depression, the desperation for any kind of human contact or approval, for any way of alleviating the terrible numbness inside her that had made her live that life.  It wasn't her fault.

Her brain, Remus and Eloise knew this and agreed with him.  But the small rotten organ that passed for her heart did not.

And Snape?  She dunked her head under the water again.  God knows why she was attracted him, or what if anything, she was going to do about that.  Although apologising for yelling at him would probably be a start.  She had been so scared…  But the thing was she had reacted to him.  She thought she had driven that tingling feeling completely away.  That had been the first time in years just being in someone's presence had made her feel anything.  She could imagine touching him and not just feeling cold…

This was all going to end up in a complete mess.  But right now she was just too tired to work it all out.


	21. 21) Dreams and Nightmares

Well another chapter crawls from the woodwork! Thank you very much to Kbear, Tegan and RADKA for their lovely reviews and to Laura Beth for beta reading. You are all wonderful people!  
  
  
  
Unlike the people you are just about to read about.  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 21 - Dreams and Nightmares  
  
Snape got very drunk the night after the accident. He sat in his chair and drank glass after glass of brandy. When the bottle was finished he didn't feel humiliation or embarrassment or shame. He felt pleasantly numb and cosseted in some nice spinning, fluffy world.  
  
Unfortunately that world soon took a dark turn and he spent two hours chucking up everything he had drunk earlier. Shivering on the bathroom floor he was all too aware of the humiliation, embarrassment and shame the accident had caused. He also became aware that green and silver make a nice pattern for bathroom tile, but not when they're spinning.  
  
The only plus side he could find in the next few days was that spending the night being sick meant he didn't have a headache in the morning.  
  
Friday came around again. And he had to see Faith because Blackthorn thought he had found a candidate for their coup d'etat. It was all very exciting. Faith was insisting on having this meeting in her rooms, and he had decided to get there early. If avoiding her was an option then he would have just done that, but they were going to be forced together till Christmas at least, and some sort of apology had to be made.  
  
That really grated. He hated apologising. Apologising went against his whole upbringing, ethos and world view, but she had possibly had the glimmerings of a point when she stormed out. Saying thank you for helping before commenting on the shirt probably would have been more polite. Although he was really annoyed about that shirt.  
  
He was annoyed about the whole situation though. He didn't make mistakes like that! Exploding cauldrons did not happen to him! It was like the time he'd got a C in transfiguration. He'd just stared at the paper in disbelief, things like this did not happen to him.  
  
To make it worse he still wasn't entirely sure what happened.  
  
And it had to be Faith who saw it. He hated being attracted to her. Hated the dreams, the desire, hated the longing. It wouldn't be quite so bad if he'd developed these feelings for someone else, but Faith just. She couldn't be dominated, she couldn't be crushed, she couldn't be controlled. Well he didn't think so anyway. And she knew he was a vulnerable human being, that was the worst bit.  
  
As he dried his hair before going to her rooms he remembered just why she knew he was vulnerable.  
  
Faith had been a strange student. She had been cold and quiet, and had had most of the school scared of her by the time she left. Although oddly she had been sort of friends with a few of the Slytherins. The chilly numbness that surrounded her had worried the staff, but none, apart from him, had realised just how terrible she felt.  
  
He had been much more unstable then. The crippling bouts of guilt and depression were longer, more frequent and more intense. Voldemort had been gone seven years, but he had carried the pain and memories round inside him like a knife being twisted in his heart. He probably wouldn't have been able to survive in the outside world.  
  
The Summer term of Faith's second and final year of Hogwarts had been coming to a close, she was seventeen years old and Dumbledore was still vainly hoping her father would allow her to remain there for the last year to finish her education. But Snape didn't really care, he was going through an acute period of depression and Faith Llewllyn was of very little consequence to him.  
  
He had found a hiding place from it all though. A room on top of a deserted and probably creaking tower. It had probably been beautiful once, torn silk drapes hung from the walls and ornate but broken furniture was still in place. The windows had been smashed in at some point leaving everything was stained and discoloured. He felt at home there.  
  
One night he had walked up and been astonished to find Faith up there. He had felt worse then than he could remember feeling for a long time, he was never sure afterwards whether he'd been going up there to fling himself from the broken window frames, but he couldn't say he definitely wouldn't have done.  
  
But she had been there. He'd called her name out in surprise and she had turned round. Her face had been horrible. And he'd realised that if he had come a few seconds later she'd probably have jumped. It was the first time in years he'd looked into someone's eyes and felt like he was looking into a mirror.  
  
Someone felt the same as him. He had been stunned. For what may have been minutes, or may have been hours, they had stared at each other, each thinking the same, "Someone else knows, someone else feels, I'm not alone." They had edged closer to each other and then somehow the words came out, pain, fear, numbness, loneliness.. He forgot she was a student, forgot everything apart from the fact that he wasn't alone any more, that someone else understood the ache in his chest that would never, ever leave. Someone else who had come back through hell and wished they hadn't managed to.  
  
He wasn't sure exactly how they ended up sitting on the sofa, their hands clinging together and the rain sleeting across their faces. He wasn't sure who it was that lent forward first in some desperate attempt to feel something, anything. The one thing he was sure of was the feel of her breath on his cheek had made him realise this was real, it was actually happening, and she was a student and he was supposed to be a teacher, in a position of trust. He pulled away and stood up, suddenly panicking and feeling sick. Her eyes had shut down, the mask falling over her face again, and she had walked past him out of the room. Then he had heard her feet clattering on stone as she raced down the stairs.  
  
He jabbed his finger with a pin on his cloak and came abruptly back to the present. There had been no follow up. She hadn't returned next year and he had been both relieved and sad. He watched the blood well up in the pinprick and groaned. She knew just how vulnerable he was, one moment years ago proved he had feelings. For all he desired her he hated her for this.  
  
And now he had to go and see her.  
  
**************************************  
  
"I apologise for not being properly receptive of your attentions the other day. It was inconsiderate, although I believe fairly understandable considering I was in some shock."  
  
He breathed out, fairly painless.  
  
She stared up at him incredulously for a moment then opened the door to allow him to come in.  
  
He glanced round the messy room. It looked reluctantly homely, a room someone expected to be temporary and has got stuck with for longer than they wanted. There were overflowing boxes in the corners and the books on the bookshelf looked like they had been flung on at random.  
  
He heard the door click shut and then she spoke.  
  
"I'm sorry too. For shouting, it was as you said, the situation. Very stressful."  
  
An apology almost as frosty as his, impressive!  
  
"Would you like a glass of wine?"  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
She moved over to a the drinks cabinet and he heard clinking bottles and glasses as he stood by the window. It was a huge bay window that was filled with the evening Sun. There was an absolutely fantastic view of the forest, he could see the trees were beginning to turn copper and orange. He'd like a view like this, but had to stay with his Slytherins. He looked down and realised in surprise it looked out over the garden he worked in.  
  
"Wine's on the table, I'll just clear out the chair."  
  
He took a moment to realise what she meant. But one of the chairs by the fireplace was covered in newspapers, books and clothes. She shrugged at him as she chucked them onto the sofa.  
  
He sat down opposite her and an awkward silence fell over them. He looked into the wine, the fireplace, out of the window... Anything to avoid looking at her, but his eyes were inevitably dragged back towards her. She was wearing those bloody jeans again and a grey polo neck jumper that made her face look surprisingly small and elfin. He realised she was looking at him quizzically and he searched for something, anything, to attract her attention.  
  
"You play the violin?" There was a violin case propped up against the sofa.  
  
He realised instantly he had picked the wrong topic. Her face quite literally lit up, a glow seemed to spread through it as she reached for the case. The years seemed to fall away.  
  
"Yes, since I was eight. I'm quite good now."  
  
He attempted to put her down, to wipe that irritating, stupid, beautiful smile off her face.  
  
"It takes years to learn the violin. It seems pointless."  
  
"Pointless? Making music?"  
  
The wrong tactic again. Her eyes were mischievous suddenly, sparkling like he'd never seen them do before.  
  
"We shall see."  
  
And before he could protest she began to play. And her playing took away his ability to protest.  
  
She played with her heart he realised. Her eyes were closed and the instrument seemed to meld into her, to become part of her. It was outrageously sexual the way she cradled and tended to it. The music was simply gorgeous. A very simple piece that was dignified and heartbreakingly beautiful. She seemed to be able to make a piece of wood sing of pain, love, loss and happiness in a way mere words could never begin to explain. It was all there in the music pouring out of her.  
  
He could have sat there forever. The setting Sun was behind her and shadowed parts of her face, but lit her hair so it seemed to have gold strands running through it. She seemed so young now, so light, and it was impossible to believe she was the same person as the acid tongued bitch who stalked the castle. She went through all the variations of the piece and he just drank in the sight and the sound. It would physically hurt if it ended and yet surely she couldn't sustain this?  
  
One of his weakness was beauty. Beauty like this, in art, literature, music. And the music set about knocking down the walls so painstakingly constructed round his heart.  
  
Eventually she finished. The music trailed and she languidly opened her eyes.  
  
"Pointless, Severus?"  
  
He could only shake his head.  
  
"I think that piece of music is one of the most beautiful ever written. It's Pachebel's Cannon. Terribly unromantic name for a piece I can't begin to do justice to."  
  
"You do."  
  
"I do what?"  
  
"Do it justice."  
  
She seemed too surprised to respond to the compliment and practically leapt up to answer the door when Blackthorn knocked on it.  
  
He desperately tried to use the meeting to distract himself from her, from everything she brought about. Bloody mysterious violinists! But the possible annihilation of the world seemed insignificant when placed next to whatever the hell it was he was feeling. He kept glancing up at her, in some small way to check she was real or to see if that frustrating mask would crack again so he could see the glimpse of the girl who had played the violin. That didn't happen.  
  
But Blackthorn's news was good. There was a fairly young and very popular Ministry Elect member who had been going around, telling anyone who would listen of the necessity for immediate change. He seemed perfect, and it was agreed that Snape should arrange a meeting with him to sound him out. If he hadn't been distracted by the way Faith had been playing with her wine glass he would probably have protested more about this.  
  
When Blackthorn left he used her pictures of violent sea storms as an excuse to stay for awhile longer, lingering by them and feigning reluctance when she pushed another glass of wine into his hands.  
  
"How are you by the way? After the accident?"  
  
Oh the bitch just had to bring that up!  
  
"Fine." He said frostily and turned his back on her.  
  
"I was only asking!"  
  
"I know."  
  
"Oh I won't even bother trying to nice you in future. It's really petty to be upset by it anyway, accidents happen to everyone."  
  
"What do you mean?" He spun round and glared at her, "It wasn't my fault."  
  
She looked at him in disgust and kicked at a chair leg.  
  
"Well it certainly wasn't mine."  
  
"It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been there."  
  
"Oh really? Why do I have trouble believing that? You made a mistake, deal with it!"  
  
"You were a distraction."  
  
"How the hell was I distracting!"  
  
"Just by being there! By annoying and interrupting me, just by being there!"  
  
"That's pathetic! I know for a fact other staff members must go and see you!"  
  
"Yes but they aren't you!"  
  
He realised instantly he shouldn't of said that. They had somehow ended up standing very close to each other, he could see her chest rising and falling and the angry flush in her cheeks. But her eyes had suddenly seemed baffled by what he said and she frowned at him in confusion.  
  
He turned to stalk out of the room before she could say anything, but hit his knee on the table. As he did so he glanced down and saw today's paper.  
  
The headline yelled ONE MONTH ON!!! Below it was a picture of Graham and Tempest Lestrange. He just stared. They had died a month ago today. A month ago today.  
  
He heard Faith's voice speaking softly over her shoulder.  
  
"You knew them didn't you?"  
  
He just nodded. Tempest's picture was laughing, Graham's utterly blank, he looked like a broken man. A few hours later they had been locked in Azkaban.  
  
"Would you like to take it?" Faith moved round him and carefully lifted up the paper and held it out to him. He took it equally carefully and folded it away in his robes. He felt the weight of the paper, or maybe the weight of the words, hit something else in his pocket. His fingers closed on the small bottle of calming potion he had brought for Faith's nightmares.  
  
He took it out and held it out to her. She smiled softly and lifted it from his hand, her fingers wrapped round his for a few seconds, the only tiny bit of comfort she could afford to give and he could afford to take.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
He nodded and walked silently out of her rooms.  
  
Once back in his own he sat down at the table in his bedroom and folded out the paper. The ink stained his fingers, but he couldn't bear to wash it off. He read the article very, very slowly.  
  
It was really dedicated to slating the ministry for not having killed more Death Eaters, but it was the last bit that grabbed him by the throat.  
  
They hadn't been buried. They were still in the morgue. The policy for Death Eaters bodies was an unmarked grave in a secret location. But Tempest had been a member of the Neros, one of the Eight Families. Antony Nero, the Head of the family was demanding that they were buried in the family plot in Westminster. When they were asked why they wanted two serial killers to be so publicly associated with the family, Antony had replied that there were no moral absolutes and it was not for him to call judgement on anyone, including serial killers. Family, however, was family.  
  
Snape couldn't believe they weren't buried! That there really weren't maggots and worms crawling through there flesh, they were still relatively uncorrupted!  
  
He smiled as he opened the secret compartment in his floor and placed the paper inside. He hesitated for a minute, but then he pulled out a photograph lying carelessly amongst the rest of the debris of his life.  
  
Graham and Tempest on their wedding day. Tempest wearing robes of gold silk, her hair bound up in gold net. She was smiling, laughing wildly and clinging to her new husband's arm. Graham was smiling more softly, but there was no disguising the leaping joy and pride in his eyes. He was swathed in navy blue velvet and had earrings with sapphire drops.  
  
Tempest had dared him to get his ears pierced.  
  
Snape stroked their faces for a moment before letting the photograph fall. The best friend's he ever had. He'd betrayed them and condemned them, but had never ever stopped missing them.  
  
He knew he never would.  
  
He let the lid of the compartment fall shut, and tried not to notice the candle light flickering on the silver mask. He kicked the rug over the stone, another layer of protection against the past.  
  
***************************************************  
  
It felt the same way the other dreams had. A slow dawning of consciousness, but being very aware it was still a dream. He was gently pulled out of his bed and turned around a few times. Then he was marched straight through the walls to the Slytherin common room. As he drifted through the dormitories he saw moonlight glinting on skin and hair, but he didn't dare look at the faces in the beds.  
  
The gentle, but insistent tug dragged him into the Common room. He stumbled slightly on a chair leg and looked up.  
  
The ghost of Tempest Lestrange sat in one of the armchairs. The room was lit by candlelight, but she hovered like a cold stain in the light. She froze the warmth in the room.  
  
He wasn't surprised to see her. He was more surprised she wasn't being burnt, and that maggots weren't pouring out of her mouth.  
  
She flicked her wrist towards the chair opposite hers.  
  
"Sit down Severus."  
  
He did so. She leant back in her chair, and he could see the curling ivy pattern flickering behind her.  
  
"I've dreamed of you before."  
  
She shook her head. "This isn't exactly a dream."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Ghosts, which I am, can enter people's minds. However it is generally considered very bad form and is virtually never attempted." She smiled "This doesn't bother me very much.  
  
"Your psyche provides the place, a context you can both connect with, in this instance the Slytherin common room.  
  
"Severus, you are going to conduct this conversation exactly as you would if you were awake, and you will remember it perfectly."  
  
"I'm not sure that's reassuring."  
  
She rolled her eyes at him and said acidly,  
  
"It wasn't supposed to be."  
  
"Can I leave?"  
  
"When I let you."  
  
"Oh. Good."  
  
"Sill the same sarcastic bastard you always were."  
  
There was a pause and he looked up at her. It was strange, and horrible. He had last seen her when she was 23, but here she was, frozen at the age of 39. She was changed, terribly changed. Even assuming that being a ghost did nothing for a person's complexion, she looked drawn and hollow. She used to have a figure that the word voluptuous could have been invented for. But now her flesh looked like it was hanging off her bones, her heavy lidded eyes were sunken into her face and the Death Eater robes hung off her body.  
  
She met his eyes and said softly,  
  
"Fourteen years in Azkaban can change a person."  
  
He nodded stiffly.  
  
She smiled and said,  
  
"You've changed too. You used to be attractive."  
  
"There are many kinds of dementor."  
  
Her eyes narrowed and she gazed round the common room.  
  
"Still looks the same."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Oh the memories Sevvie, oh the memories."  
  
He bit down the urge to tell her not to call him that pathetic nickname, and watched her drift up and wander over to the fire place.  
  
"Particular memories of here." Her foot scraped the rug.  
  
"Don't."  
  
"Oh dear Severus, I'm sure he didn't mind all that much. He rather seemed to be enjoying it." She shrugged. "You certainly were at any rate."  
  
"How did you know I was thinking of that?"  
  
"This is your head, I can sense things."  
  
He shifted and asked, "Why are you here Tempest?"  
  
She sighed and floated back down.  
  
"Because I'm bored. And you are the only one of us left who is worth visiting."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Oh indeed. I mean Paris Wilkes is dead, as is Evan Rosier." She stared at him for a moment, but he didn't flinch. "There is of course Avery, but, well quite the honestly the little worm is as exasperatingly sycophantic as ever!"  
  
She stared back at the hearth rug for a moment and then spat out,  
  
"Why couldn't you have betrayed that little wretch properly?"  
  
Snape was stuck for a minute and muttered out,  
  
"I did my best."  
  
"The little rat went to the Ministry only hours after our Lord fell! Hours!"  
  
"I know. I can still remember the day he joined us, I was so angry at Voldemort for letting him in."  
  
"Us? You still think in terms of us?" Her voice was a like a whip crack and he froze.  
  
"You betrayed us. All of us. You helped destroy our Lord, and you still think in terms of us?"  
  
He didn't reply. She smiled and glided up to him, he could feel the coldness pouring off her, and he could feel the jagged ice running through the veins to his heart.  
  
"You set up Rosier and Wilkes didn't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"To die?"  
  
"Yes. Or be captured. Preferably captured, probably, I don't know."  
  
"Did you feel guilty?"  
  
"No. I was beyond guilt. I felt very little of anything."  
  
She stared at him and her expression slowly seemed to soften, then she moved away from him and floated round the room, looking at curtains, books, chairs. Snape closed his eyes, hoping that he would wake up if he tried hard enough.  
  
He heard her sigh softly and looked up at her again. Her face was hidden by a curtain of grey hair. He realised someone was missing.  
  
"Where's Graham?"  
  
"Graham isn't a ghost."  
  
He couldn't think of anything to say to that. It was impossible to think of Tempest without Graham. They had been linked, connected. The magic created by the moment they joined on their wedding day had created such light and power that all the doors and windows in the hall had been blown to smithereens. He could remember the music in the air.  
  
She winced as though he had hit her and whispered,  
  
"Please don't think of that."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"I died before he did," her voice seemed to come from a long way away. "And my last thought was that I couldn't leave him. I wanted to stay with him so much I returned.  
  
"But you see he saw me die. So he thought he would be going to join me. Which means he's wherever he is, and I'm still here."  
  
He felt some desperate urge to console her, but said nothing.  
  
"I can't find any love in your head."  
  
"I've never been in love."  
  
"You've never lived."  
  
"Oh I did. I lived between the ages of seventeen and twenty two. I lived so much I wanted to die."  
  
She spun round in a fury,  
  
"Don't! Don't say that! No one should choose death, no one! If you knew, oh Gods if you knew."  
  
"You should give counselling sessions to people with a morbid fear of dying."  
  
She didn't seem to have heard him.  
  
"You don't feel blood. You don't feel it when it's pumping around inside you. But when it stops. Don't wish for this Severus."  
  
"Why aren't you angrier with me."  
  
"What? Oh I am. But you see being dead gives you perspective."  
  
She shrugged and a smile that could almost have belonged to the girl he once knew flashed across her face.  
  
"And anyway you could easily live another hundred years. I have a lot time for you Severus, a lot of time."  
  
She walked to the door and stopped.  
  
"You'll remember all this. As I said, its not exactly a dream, because of this I thought I would give you some homework. Something fun to dwell on.  
  
"You say you are beyond guilt. I say you're not. The curling twists of your mind are riddled with it. So, for next time I come, want you to have relived the first time you tasted blood.  
  
"Nighty night Severus." 


	22. 22 The Thing That You Dread Happening

Thank you to Tegan and Laura Beth for their reviews, also loads of thanks to Laura Beth beta reading, and much improving, this chapter! Dedicated to my dentist, Mr. Rosier!  No I'm not kidding, that really is his name!  This chapter owes a nod to Terry Pratchett.    Chapter Twenty Two – The Things That You Dread 

Faith lay back in the chair, the leather smelt of disinfectant and felt sticky under her sweating hands.  She could hear the man walking around, but he was behind the glaring light in front of her eyes, and she couldn't see him.  This light dazzled out all the other shapes in the sour smelling room.  She felt sick.

The man appeared with his wand outstretched, and gave her a lecherous look that lingered on her breasts and thighs.  She wished she had worn a robe.

"So, Ms Llewllyn, a few questions, routine I assure you."

His voice was high and thin.  He was disgustingly fleshy, with shiny, sallow skin that spilled over his collar.  His nose was red and bulbous, and Faith could see the little broken veins.  He gave off a vague smell of mouth balls.

"Have you ever been subjected to any Grade Five curses?"

"Yes." 

 He almost dropped the clip board his fat fingers were clinging to.

"Really?"

"Yes.  Crucio, Imperio, Asphyxio and Nocthorrifica."

"Ah.  Alright.  Were any of them under six months ago?"

"Nocthorrifica.  It was June, yes it is still in my system, and no I can't take any thing for it apart from a calming potion."

The man scribbled on his clipboard.  Faith's hands tightened on the chair's arms.  You could get chairs like this that strapped the victim to them so they couldn't move.  Maybe this was one of those chairs…  She resisted the urge to peer over the side of it.

"Apart from the um, obvious, have you been ill recently?"

"No."

"Right."  He put the clip board down and shoved his wand in her face.  "Open wide…"

Faith shuddered as the magic began to scrape at her teeth.  She hated going to the damn dentist!

When he'd finished he ran his eyes over the clip board again.  Faith had her back to him as she fastened up her coat, staring out of the window at the grey sky.  There was a collection of dead and swollen blue bottles on the window sill.

"Um, Miss Llewllyn, I wonder, I was supposed to ask you at the beginning, before the examination, but have you taken any illegal drugs lately?  Apart from in the calming potion that is!"  He laughed, but it turned into wheezing.  Faith wasn't listening.  She had been about to enquire whether his practice could of cope with the lawsuit she would of bring if he had done something that had reacted to drugs in her system, when his words caught up with her.

"Drugs, in the potion?" 

"Oh yes!  A lot of calming potions contain cannabis, others even have opium."

"Really?"

"Why yes!"

Faith nodded and drifted back to the Hogwarts gates in a daze.  She had sworn off drugs.  She knew she had an addictive personality, and drugs were terrible because she couldn't just use them recreationally.  She had frequently meant to, but one time, became two, became three…  If they were in that potion she had to stop taking it, but…  It was the one thing that had ever helped.

She was so lost in thought she didn't notice the air shimmer and a small, slightly greying figure appear next to her.

"Aren't you pleased to see me Faith?"

"Remus!"

**********************************************       

Snape stood staring into the river Thames, and gloomily watched a condom float by through the oily, brown water.  He was early for his meeting with their potential candidate for the coup to remove Fudge, being early was always wise, the other person could have anything set up, it paid to be alert for potential surprises.

He sipped his coffee and made a mental note to never, ever, even if he was suffering from some horrible curse that could only be relieved by drinking coffee, go into Starbucks again.

He felt horribly insecure.  It made sense to meet in muggle London, in a public, open space, where it would be virtually impossible for them to be overheard.  But he didn't feel comfortable in the Muggle world.  He knew an awful lot of wizards were able to slip quite comfortably between the two communities, but he never had.  He had hardly ever been exposed to muggle society as a child, and it had hardly been a fashionable thing to do among the Death Eaters.  Then there had been a few years he chose not to remember, and then Hogwarts.  All in all he had barely ever needed to leave the close confines of the Wizarding world.

He had had to thrust a twenty pound note at the spotty brat in Starbucks so he wouldn't look stupid counting out the wrong change, and then made a complete idiot of himself trying to get the stupid plastic top on the cup off.  And anyway it was a paper cup!  Admittedly anyone willing to buy coffee from there on a regular basis probably shouldn't be trusted with sharp instruments, but still…

And although he was wearing a suit he was also aware that most of the muggle businessmen who hurried past, their heads bent down from the wind, did not have shoulder length hair.

He felt ridiculously out of place.

He stared though the spitty rain to the Houses of Parliament across the river.  The building was shaped like a cathedral.  Ironic really, the idea that politicians were pure enough to be housed in a building like the homes of God…

He poured his coffee into the river and watched some more scum float past.

Then he saw him.  Martin Lear, the future Minister of Magic, if they had their way, walking cheerfully along the embankment.  He did not look out of place, he moved with an ease and grace that made Snape's stomach crawl.  

He also had, Snape viewed the people around him, at least three bodyguards.  The man browsing through a newspaper on his left, the woman with the baggy jeans and crew cut just behind him, and the young man who stationed himself on the barrier just in front of Snape.

Lear reached Snape and his eyebrows went up in surprise.

"I have to confess to not expecting to see you Professor Snape,   I rather had the impression it would be Blackthorn."

Snape forced out a smile and offered his hand.

"No Mr Lear.  I am your contact for the moment."

"Ah."  Lear shook his hand delicately.  "You do realise the Aurors wish to reopen the case on you?  I heard of the request this morning.  I'm meeting with a suspected Death Eater it seems.  Cigar?"

Snape's guts twisted up.  Why the fuck was the file being reopened?  He swallowed and shook his head at the offered packet of thin, cheroot cigars.

Lear lit one, tapped some ash into the river and then spoke again.

"I have four body guards stationed around me.  If anything happens they will act, they will not be merciful."

Snape cursed himself for only spotting three.

"Nothing will happen to you.  Now, you know the basic outline of our plan?"

"I know that some shadowy figures have found my views on the current situation align with theirs, so they wish to promote me.  I do not however know who leads these people, although I suspect they are based at Hogwarts…?"

Snape watched him for a moment and then said very carefully,

"Albus Dumbledore does not, I repeat not, know anything about this."

He held Lear's eyes for a fraction too long.  Lear blew out a long plume of smoke and nodded.  

"I understand."

"Good."

"Are you going to assassinate Fudge?"

"More trouble than it is worth, no we are going for character assassination.  Then he will choose you for his successor."

"Not technically very legal is it?"

"We are in the grey area certainly."

Lear turned his eyes to the building across the river.

"They are in there right now, making laws, making a future for this country.  Maybe a good one, maybe a bad, but still a future.  A future we do not have with Fudge."

Snape nodded.  "We have two years, at the very most, before Voldemort is successful.  That's Dumbledore's estimate, I'm a pessimist and say one."

Lear twirled his cigar in front of his eyes and shuddered.  Snape noticed his glossy brown hair was beginning to turn grey.

"I will not be Dumbledore's puppet.  Our views on how the War should be run are the same at present, but I will not view myself as continually in your debt."  He turned to face Snape and his eyes were like steel, "I will be minister my own way.  I will make my own decisions.  I will not shirk from the tough ones, or take the easy way for my own self-preservation, but they will be my choices and only mine.  Do you understand?"

Now Snape had to suppress a smile.

"I do."  He reached into his pocket.  "Here is a list of our goals and how we think they can be best achieved.  The goals are written in the form of a very polemic speech.  If you are caught with this you can just say it was a draught you were given."

Lear took the paper and read the speech with smile permanently playing round the corners of his thin mouth.

"Very polemic, but well written.  May I know who wrote it?"

"Faith Llewllyn."

"She's mixed up in this!  I'm surprised, but then she has managed to stay out of the gossip columns for the past few years.  Do you think she'd like a job as a speech writer?"

"No," Snape spat.  He'd forgotten how much gossip Faith used to generate, she had been written off as an upper class slut by the majority of their world.  Useless gossips who knew absolutely nothing!     

Lear cut through his thoughts.

"I must be going.  You have my cooperation Professor, and my best wishes for the next stage of your endeavours."

"Thank you."

They shook hands again and Lear sent his cheroot flying into the river, its end was a small spark of light shining briefly in the polluted air.

*******************************************  

Faith and Lupin walked down towards the dungeons.  

"Are you sure you can't stay longer?"

"Yes.  I've found something potentially important, I can only stay for today.  I wouldn't have come at all, but obviously I have to see Snape straight away."

"Yes."  She stopped in the corridor and placed her hand on his arm.  "Are you, I mean, do you…?"  She trailed off wretchedly and he squeezed her hand.  

"I don't know what can be done.  I just have to hope."

"Where do you get your endless capacity for hope!  I don't understand."

Remus looked at her sadly and whispered,

"I'm running out of it Faith."

She squeezed his hand back and they carried on downwards.

As they walked past a corridor a voice called out,

"Professor Lupin!"

They turned and Faith saw Blaise Zabini and Eleanor De Sade walking towards them, Blaise was striding eagerly ahead.  Remus's face lit up at the sight of his old pupils and one of his slow smiles spread across his lips.

"Blaise, Eleanor!  How are you?"

Eleanor only nodded, but Blaise beamed and said,

"I'm absolutely fine Sir!  What are you doing here?"

As Lupin blabbered some excuse about buying some ingredients from Snape, Faith glanced over Blaise.  He was ridiculously good looking, in her opinion one of the best looking people in the school.  He had auburn curls falling all round his face, and wide blue eyes that wore an expression of total innocence.  Faith wasn't fooled by that for a minute.

Then she noticed Remus noticing the man his old pupil had grown into.  The innocence in Blaise's eyes had dropped and taken on a slightly inviting look.  Faith's eyes met Eleanor's, and the girl raised an eye brow with a slightly amused look on her face.

"Um, Remus, you know what Severus gets like if you're late."

"Oh right!"  Remus seemed startled to realise there was actually anyone else there.  "Okay.  Goodbye Blaise, Eleanor."

As they walked down the corridor Remus looked back, he saw Blaise's head turning back towards his, and then the younger man gave a last wave.

***************************************      

Snape watched the syringe fill up with Lupin's blood and then pulled it away, leaving a tiny slit in the skin filling with beads of blood.

He heard Lupin muttering words to heal it, and then squeezed the blood into a test tube.

"I've performed some experiments, but I needed a fresh sample."

"Of course," Lupin sighed tiredly. 

"You do realise that the Wolfsbane Potion has been a huge breakthrough.  It is extremely difficult to calibrate to the individual werewolf.  The other work that has been done of werewolf transformation has always, always, failed.  It seems impossible to find a way to allow the werewolf to retain its human mind when it is wolf form.  That is why Wolfsbane works, it sedates you."

Remus looked up sharply from buttoning up his robe.

"What did you say?"

"To be blunt, Lupin.  Wolfsbane dopes you."

"No before then."  He jumped off the worktop and said,  "Before then you implied that all this work was based on the principle that I am human three weeks out of four and then a wolf!"

"Well aren't you?"

"No!  I'm always a werewolf."

Snape looked blank and then began to try to explain.  He hated it when he had to fall back on various experts to make his case, it generally meant there was a gap in his argument. 

Remus looked at him scornfully.  

"None of the so called experts you have just named have ever talked to werewolves then."

Snape shut his mouth, Remus's eyes were gleaming dangerously.

The other man began to pace round the room.

"None of these people listen to us, they speak in patronising voices about how they want to 'relieve our suffering' but they have no clue, no concept of what we suffer!  And to rub salt into the gaping wounds they make huge assumptions about us!

"I am not a human Snape, and I am never a wolf.  Wolves hate werewolves.  They'd rip me apart if they walked in here now."

"Why, I mean, aren't you…"

"Humans hate werewolves, why shouldn't wolves?  They can sense that, unlike them, we're vicious murdering beasts."

He sank down on one of the lab stools, and looked so tired, so old and tired.

"All the work you've just described is entirely flawed if it works on the premise that I'm one species for three weeks and a different one for the fourth."

Snape didn't speak.  There was no comfort he could give this man, just as there was nothing Lupin could offer to him.  But the wheels in his mind were turning and spinning in all kinds of new directions.  He sat down and began to scribble notes.  After awhile Lupin looked up and said,

"Snape?"

Snape just waved his hand at Lupin vaguely to dismiss him.  Lupin glanced over the other man's shoulder, saw nothing in the notes he understood, and crept away.

*************************************            

Faith marched into the staff room and then hesitated.  She moved over to the bookcase and pretended to browse the titles there. She didn't actually see any of them.  

She had been confident about this.  She was going to walk over to Snape, find out exactly what was in the calming potion, and then when it turned out to contain drugs, say a polite 'thanks but no thanks.'  Easy, simple.  

Except.  She was really nervous.  Stupid, incredibly stupid, but there you go.  The potion helped, not just immediately after, but it replenished the huge amounts of strength she lost.  It helped.  And she had to throw it back in his face.  She felt ripped up inside.  

She also felt guilty.  And this was even more stupid.  She felt guilty that Snape had spent quite a bit of time on this, and then she was being completely ungrateful.  She really shouldn't feel this of course, but she just did…

She stole a look at him.  He sat reading a magazine at the table in the corner.  The soft, violet evening light fell across him softening his features, and making him look, sad?  Not his usual angry bitterness anyway.  And he was ugly, but…  There was a but.  She hadn't quite worked out what the but was, but it was there.  Maybe it was in his eyes?  She didn't know.  She just knew that for all she spent half her life squabbling with him, she also enjoyed being near him.

It was horribly disconcerting.  She was even being to think she couldn't write the whole thing off as some brief sexual attraction.

This was even more disconcerting.

She drifted over to him slowly.  Talking to the other teachers and glancing at the newspaper headlines.  But eventually she reached him and sat in the chair opposite his.

He glanced up at her and nodded briefly before going back to the article he was reading.

"Severus?  I have a question about the calming potion."

"What?"  He didn't look up.

"What's in it?"

He stared at her in surprise.  She dropped her eyes from his face and scratched her nail in the varnish on the table.

"Why?"

"Humour me?"

He gave a short explanation of each of the ingredients and she thought that it actually might be alright till he added,

"And cannabis."

She couldn't help the desperate sigh that hissed through her lips, and she watched her fingers curling round each other.  If she was the kind of person that cried, there would have been tears leaking out of her eyes and running down her face.

"I'm afraid then I can't take it anymore then."

"Why?"  He was staring at her with an odd expression on his face.  Concern?  Compassion?  Neither were likely.

Faith thought.  Admitting extreme susceptibility to narcotics was weak.  However then saying that she resisted taking them because of this was surely a sign of strength?

She spoke to his hands.

"I have had some difficulties with addictive drugs in the past," she looked up into his now blank face, "Because of this I never take them.  Even in potions."

He held her gaze, and she tried to understand why she thought his eyes were so attractive.  Nothing that hard and cold could really be beautiful, but, she could stare at his face for hours.

He shrugged.

"Its up to you, but I think you're being idiotic."

She snapped her head away and pushed her chair back so hard it crashed into the wall behind her.

"Faith, wait."

"The potion is designed to react to the magic in you.  If you take it when the magic is not affecting you I doubt anything will really happen."

She lowered herself back into her chair.  He gave her a disdainful look that she had thought he reserved for those he considered maggots, and it was easier to look at the floor than his face.

"Take the potion now and the most you will feel is dizzy and nauseous."

"Really?"  Her voice seemed lost and she could only whisper.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

He shrugged again and went back to his magazine.  She stared out of the window and tried to calm down.  She needed a drink.  Peaty whisky poured over ice cubes and sliding down her throat…

"There's an article on your father."

"What?"  She spun round to face him.

"Its this month's Dark Defences.  There's another article on your father, it calls for his notes to be made public."

She went white, actually felt the blood drain from her face and her voice wouldn't work, but she pulled the magazine out of his hands.

"Are you alright?"  He sounded completely unconcerned.

"Yes."  Oh she could speak after all.  

"No one will take it seriously."

"Really?"  She leaned over and grabbed his hand without even realising she was doing it.  "Really?"

"Yes.  His calculations are works of genius, but belong in some other universe I'm afraid."

Her lips went up into a smile that came out more like a death mask grimace.

"Would you be prepared to say that, if you had to, officially, if anyone did ask…?"

"Yes, I wouldn't damage my reputation by saying anything else!"  

She didn't say anything else but practically ran out of the room.

******************************************         

Two days later, at breakfast, the official Ministry letter came demanding the release of all Rhys's papers.


	23. 23 Shadows Cast

Wow!  Four reviews, it must be a record!  No seriously, the reviews do mean an awful lot to me, I just read them and feel smug, they do mean something.  And on that note… 

Thank you to Prof Sparky and Iceheart for their lovely comments!

Tegan – I promise Faith and Snape's romance won't be forgotten!  But it is a long story, and I don't want it to get boring, so its got a lot of things going on, all of which aren't as important as Faith and Snape.

Little Mandy Ralph – Wow, I attract a literary crowd!  Plath has been a huge influence on me over the years, the chunk from "Daddy" (there's another one this chapter) came after I had that plot segment devised, but I wonder at the subconscious influence.  I've always read Plath for pleasure and never studied her, I would be really fascinated to hear some of your insights, ideas etc…  Just for the different perspective really.  I'd love it if you'd email me to share some ideas!

Thanks to Laura Beth for beta reading this, especially as I really seemed to loose my ability to spell with this one!

*********************************************** Chapter 23 – Shadows Cast            

"You stand at the blackboard, daddy,

In the picture I have of you,

A cleft in your chin instead of your foot

But no less a devil for that, no not

Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.

I was ten when they buried you.

At twenty I tried to die 

And get back, back, back to you.

I thought even the bones would do."

From "Daddy" by Sylvia Plath

****************************************        

Faith paced up and down Dumbledore's study waving the Ministry letter.

"Albus they can't, they just, can't take his notes!  I won't let them!  I will not let anyone…"

"Calm yourself child.  Sit down, breathe, try to relax."  Dumbledore leant across the table and took Faith's hands in his.  "I promise you that they will not take Rhys's papers.  I will not let them."  His eyes were hard, and the genial old man act vanished as he stared into Faith's eyes.

"I will not let history repeat itself, Faith."

Faith sank down into the chair and put her head in her hands.

"Albus, I can't, I can't cope with this.  I can't go through this now, I can't…"

"You won't have to."

"That's so easy to say!"

"You won't have to."

They sat in silence and Faith drew her knees up to her chin and buried her face in them.  Maybe if she hunched herself up small enough then no one would see her?  If she cocooned herself in the dark no one would touch her?  

But then a hand did touch her hair and she jumped up, grabbed her wand, and when she only saw Albus Dumbledore's worried, kindly face staring at her she had to restrain the sob building in her chest.

"Faith we can probably convince them his _research,"_ Dumbledore spat the word like it tasted foul in his mouth, "Was worthless.  If we can't then we just won't let them take it, it's that simple."

"Severus said that he would say that too, publicly, if he had too."

"Yes having Severus there would help.  But Faith you'll have to tell him."

Faith looked at the rug and tried to breathe slowly.

"I can't…"

"Tell him that you, that you can resist it.  You have to there's no way they won't mention it."

"No!"

"You have to!"

"I can't, but, then he won't support us, you know that, his sodding professional reputation!"

Faith leapt up and started pacing again.  She walked over to the window and pressed her forehead against the glass.  If only they would stop, if only everything could be quiet, just for a moment.  One moment of quiet…

"Severus does actually have some ethics.  Even if his sense of honour may seem rather twisted its definitely there."

He joined her at the window and put his arm around her shoulders, but she pushed him away and walked to the other side of the room.

"Show him Rhys's notes, all of them, all that you have, and I'm sure he will help us."

Faith just shook her head.

"He won't do it otherwise!  And Faith he would be an enormous help.  His testimony on this will probably shut them up for a long time."

"I know."

Dumbledore walked across the room and stood opposite her.

"Painful as it is Faith, this is not just about you.  It is at least partly about making sure this can never be repeated."

Faith raised her glimmering eyes to Albus's face.

"It's never just about me.  I know this.  Nothing in my life has ever been about me apart from the abuse I aimed at myself.  I'm sorry for once again disappointing you Albus."

She turned out of the room and he called after her desperately,

"Faith!"

She paused for a second and her body went rigid.

"Don't Albus, I can't stand it."

Then she was gone.

It was fairly pleasant evening for Severus Snape.  A quick, invigorating squabble with Minerva in the staff room.  An excellent supper of truly delicious lasagne.  This really wonderful whisky, and best of all, no Faith Llewllyn to distract and confuse him.  Life didn't get much better.

He had pretty much convinced himself that he only looked round for her so he could avoid her.  The unfamiliar sensation of actually slightly missing her company was just, idiocy.  Nothing more or less.

He kept coming back to the moment she had grabbed his hands the other day.  The fear, it was the only phrase, the fear on her face as she had read the article.  His hands had seemed to tingle in her grip.  He had supposed, stupidly, that she wasn't really frightened of anything, but she was.  Frightened of her father?  The mask she wore had slipped right down then.  It intrigued him.  And worried him on a level he really didn't understand.

All this was why he was very annoyed when someone banged on his door at ten o'clock.

"Faith?"  He stared at her in surprise.

"Hi.  I know it's late, but can I come in?"

He should have said no, would have been very easy to tell her that it was late and he had a class to teach tomorrow, but somehow these words rearranged themselves into,

"Yes.  What do you want?"

"Thanks."

She walked past him and curled up in one of the chairs by the fire.  She had a large plastic bag with her, and she propped this up next to the chair.

"Can I have a drink?"

"People usually wait to be asked."  But he poured her one anyway and pushed it over to her.

Then, as she picked it up, he realised her hands were trembling.

She didn't say thank you or speak at all, just stared into the fire and sipped at the whisky.  Then she whispered,

"You know I asked you if you would support me in blocking access to Rhys's notes?"

"Well, you asked me if I would say they were worthless."

"Will you?"

"Yes." 

The fire had burnt down a lot and was flickering in the grate.  The shadows and flames lit up Faith's skin and made her eyes appear to be glittering strangely, as though they were filling with tears.

She still didn't look at him as she spoke again.

"On Saturday two ministry scientists are coming to demand I release all of Rhys's notes to them.  I will not let this happen, for reasons you will shortly understand.  But there is a chink in my armour."

She raised her eyes to his and looked straight at him.

"I can resist the Cruciatus curse."

He choked on his whisky.

"What?"

She repeated herself but he barely heard.  Thoughts started to vie for attention in his brain.  It was a miracle, it was dynamite, why was it so bad, who the fuck had dared put Crucio on her?  Rhys had been right?

"I suppose telling you it's a freaky coincidence won't work?"

It was the exhaustion and hopelessness in her voice that snapped him back.  She didn't look like she could resist a jelly legs curse.  She looked frail, and utterly unlike the woman he knew.  Though he was realising he didn't really know her at all.

She unwound herself slightly and took two bundles of papers out of the bag.

"This is everything that Rhys ever published, it has all been made public before.  You'll probably recognise it."

She laid her hand on the second, untidier and larger bundle.  

"These are his private notes, personal things, drafts, etc…  To the best of my knowledge these are all the notes that remain. They explain, more clearly than I ever could, why I'm asking you to help me."

She stood up and took a handful of floo powder from the pot on the mantle piece.  

"Read them, take notes from them, do what you will with them, I don't care anymore.  If you feel scientific progress is more important than anything else give them back to me tomorrow."

"Faith?"

He tried to stop her leaving, but he didn't know what he could say that would work.

She was staring at him like she thought she might be seeing him for the last time.  She took a step towards him, then turned sadly away and stepped into the flames.

"Faith."  He spoke her name to the silent air, and turned to the notes.

Three hours later.  He put his pen down and stared at the embers of the fire that had burnt down long ago.

He didn't know what to feel.  Shock possibly, surprise even.  Anger, oh yes anger, freezing silver anger that gripped his guts.  

He had tried to study them dispassionately, but now he was re-reading some of the notes he'd made, and the anger was coiling through his whole body.

"…The levels of adrenalin are higher in the subject's body after repeated small bursts of Crucio, rather than one long bout…"

_"The subject should be between the ages of sixteen and nineteen.  Under sixteen would presumably cause damage to the still growing tissue, over nineteen, the body has solidified too much…"_

_"Note:  Must see if prevention of screaming induces better responses."_

_"Subject was uncooperative today…"_

_"…Casting Crucio too often in one week causes small periods of psychosis..."_

_"Will not give subject healing potion today, see if it affects magic levels."    _ 

He had tortured his own daughter.  On and off for about two years.

She had been sixteen when it started, still at Hogwarts.  She had returned to Hogwarts after the holidays, and they hadn't noticed!  They hadn't noticed!

He crumpled the paper up in his hand.

Bastard.  Fucking, fucking bastard.  

Snape didn't actually feel able to speak.  The anger was too intense, too burning in his heart.  And the guilt, oh God the guilt.  Had he ever punished her for messing up potions because her hands were shaking?  Had he?  He didn't know!

The subject.  He had called Faith the subject.

Snape felt no desire for children, but he did feel a sort of parental protectiveness for some of the more vulnerable Slytherins in his care, and what had been done to Faith inflamed that instinct.  He wanted to find Rhys and pummel his skull to nothing, to drive his fist in the cunt's face over and over again until there was nothing left but shattered bone, and wrecked, bleeding flesh.

He had to see her!  He leapt up and then realised he had no clue what to say.

Repeated apologies for not realising wouldn't be enough, nothing could ever, ever, hope to cover the pain of this kind of abuse.

Had he called her by her name when he tortured her?  Or had he called her the Subject?

He stared at the fire, lit it again and threw a fist full of powder into it.

"Albus Dumbledore!"

Dumbledore appeared in the fire.

"Good morning Severus."  There was no hint of twinkle in his eyes.  "Shall I come through?"

Snape nodded.

A second later Dumbledore walked out of the flames and sat in the same chair Faith had curled up in earlier.  Snape wasn't quite sure why that annoyed him.

He began to pace, and tried to talk, but nothing coherent came out.  Dumbledore said quietly,

"Severus, breath and calm yourself.  Think, then speak."

"He tortured her."

"Yes, in the name of science and progress."

Snape slumped on the sofa.

"She was still at Hogwarts and none of us realised."

"Yes.  I believe it started the Christmas when she was in her sixth year.  And yes, every day I've seen her since I found out, the guilt has been a knife in my heart."

Severus looked across at the other man and realised it was one of the few times he had seen with him with tears threatening to spill from his eyes.  He didn't want to remember the other times so he looked down at the piles of evil, rank paper.

"Why didn't she report him?"

"You'd have to ask her, and I do not advise you to."

Snape picked up some of the calculations, trying to concentrate on the numbers to ease out the chaos in his mind.

"It still shouldn't have worked.  There's more, he worked out something more…"

"There is.  And she won't tell if you ask."

"Is it worse than this?"

Dumbledore's eyes clouded and his voice caught.

"Yes."

Snape stood up and began to pace frantically again.

"I have to go and see her!  Now.  This, this, bastard, he called her the Subject!  He called Faith the fucking Subject!"

"No."  Dumbledore stood up.  "Severus do not go to her now.  You are upset, and very strangely for you wearing your emotions on your sleeve.

"Faith will not appreciate you barging in, yelling and stricken with guilt.  She will run from you."

His eyes softened.  "And I do not think that is what you want."

"I…"

"Right now Severus your feelings for her are written on your face and in your eyes.  She needs your friendship rather than sex.  Although I suspect that it is a harder thing for you to give.

Snape sat down, momentarily speechless.   

Dumbledore moved next to him.

"I was surprised when I realised, and no one else has, to my knowledge anyway.  Go to her as a calm friend Severus, and take your anger out on the Ministry fools who _want to inflict this on someone else._"

Snape nodded and watched Dumbledore walk into the fire.

His feelings for Faith?  He didn't know what they were now; alright he never had, but now?  He wanted to hold her, and protect her, and wipe that horrible cold, blank look from her face.

He knew why she wore that look now.

Useless dreams.  

He made a cup of tea and drank it slowly.  Then packed up the papers and made his way through the darkened corridors of the school. 

He tapped lightly on Faith's door; he wasn't at all surprised when she answered.

"May I come in?"

She nodded.  There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked like she was too tired to bother to hide the fear.

He put the bag on the table.

"I read them, all of them.  I will be there on Saturday and I will say how repellent they are, and how worthless."

She sagged, he though she was going to collapse and he moved forward to catch her, but she caught the top of a chair.

"Thank you.  The words don't contain enough, they seem insignificant, thank you…"  

She was babbling, and he wanted so desperately to just wrap his arms around her and kiss her to shut her up, but he didn't move.

"No."  He tried to speak, but didn't know what to say.  "I should have realised…"

"No!"  She moved across to him and placed a finger against his lips.  "No you shouldn't have, it wasn't your place to."

And somehow she was in his arms.  He hadn't planned that, hadn't planned to move and wrap his arms so tight around her, and close his hand in her hair and hold her still against him.

She stiffened, and then her arms went round his neck and she held him to her as tight as she could manage.

They stood there like that for some unidentifiable amount of time.  It wasn't a sexual hug, not a lovers' embrace, but two broken people being faced with something they could never hope to handle.  Two people who knew that if they stopped holding each other they might drown, or fall, or collapse into the gaping void they'd spent their lives tip toeing round.  So they just clung to each other, and he felt her heart beating against his and wrapped his cloak around her, and she buried her face in his shoulder. 

Eventually they slid apart, and in a dream like way he ran his hand across her cheek and placed a very chaste kiss against her forehead.  Her skin was so soft under his lips, and she smiled in a way so sad it nearly snapped his heart in two.

He whispered good night to her then, and slid out of the room.  He was still angry and hurt, but it didn't matter so much anymore.  Nothing really did.  Not till the dawn anyway.

Dawn came, after three hours sleep spent dreaming of screaming and blood. But then they slid into hazy, erotic dreams of Faith, that were broken up by the alarm clock screaming in his ear.

He actually felt ashamed and slightly sick as he finished what the dreams had started.  It was probably the expression on pain in her eyes as he had held last night, doing this thinking of her, of her hurried heartbeat as he held in his arms, felt like some sort of betrayal of trust, although he couldn't begin to understand why.  It was the first time since he was teenager sharing a dormitory that he buried his face in the pillow to muffle the cry he gave as he came.

Friday moved far too quickly, that horrible speed that time only manages to move at when you're dreading something.  He spent the day in a tired daze, and didn't see Faith till the evening.

She came and sat near him in the staff room.  She had a catalogue of Transylvanian glass pieces that were being auctioned off next month.  They spent a few hours discussing them, the expected amounts they'd go for, and how many were total rip offs.

She seemed more herself.  Although she couldn't quite keep the nervousness out of her eyes, she seemed far more her usual bitchy self.  And he was irrationally delighted to be able to wring a couple of laughs out of her.

Dumbledore came to sit with them later, and gave Severus an approving smile.

But Friday night ticked into Saturday morning, and there was no escape.

Snape stared at his wardrobe with a twisted look on his face.  He really did not care what he wore most days, but this was important.  

He chose heavy, black, velvet robes, with large silver buckles.  Too plain to be dress robes, but, and this was the key, extremely imposing.  He smiled at his reflection in the mirror, it was a very cruel smile.

He paused as he looked down at the dressing table.  There were very few things on there, deodorant, comb, just the usual basic things, but inside…

He pulled open a drawer and took out a box.  It was ebony black, but set with dark blue sapphires.  A crow with an unblinking sapphire eye was engraved on it.  He opened it and viewed the contents.  

It was not just a jewellery box.  It contained the Snape Family's official jewellery, collected over the centuries.  He never, ever wore it.  He had, issues, with his family.  He had no wish to even be a member of the damn thing, let alone parading the knowledge around, but…

In some circumstances, like inspiring middle class, social climbing, twits to shut and behave, it was, useful.

All the pieces were of crows.  It was the Snape family emblem, just as midnight blue was their colour.  The Llewllyns, coming from Wales, had dragons and green.

He searched through the various pendants, brooches and rings until he found the perfect piece, and one of the few he had ever willingly worn.

It was a ring, technically.  It was the shape of a crow, and covered the wearer's entire finger.  The beak curved over his nail like a long claw.  It had been designed to cut someone's throat. Two sapphires gleamed in the steel, the bird's evil eyes.  He had once wondered why it was steel, not the more valuable silver, but his Grandfather had explained.  Silver looks pretty and shines, steel can kill and scar. 

He slipped it on and smiled horribly again.  He was ready to go to War.

He reached Dumbledore's office to find the old wizard and Faith already there.  He was quite proud of the fact that he didn't visibly react to her.  She could not look more different to normal.  Her hair was tied back in tight silver clasp, and she was dressed in robes, rather than her usual muggle clothes.  

And they were fucking impressive robes.  A green velvet gown, with a silver bodice and dark green velvet cloak, held together with a Celtic, silver brooch.  She looked nothing like the public perception of her, the upper class, alcoholic slut.  She looked powerful.  She looked fierce.  

Dumbledore was studying his enchanted plan of the grounds.

"They're here.  I'll meet them at the gates."  He dropped his hand on Faith's shoulder and raised her head to his.

"You will be fine."

Then he left in a trail of silks and velvets.  It seemed no one was taking any chances.

Fawkes flew over to Faith and nestled his head in the crook of her arm.  She stroked his feathers and looked up at Snape.

"Don't we look nice?"

He rolled his eyes and said,

"I hope we don't."

She smiled, a very thin smile, similar to the one he had given the mirror.

"So do I."

They sat in silence, the only noise was Fawkes's soft cooing.

Dumbledore came back with three figures in the uniform of the Ministry's research department, one had extra emblems on his sleeve, showing he was of very high rank. 

"May I introduce Mrs. Longbow, Mr Subnet and Mr. Spiel.  Snape sized Longbow up as the one to beat.  She reeked of practicality and her eyes were very cold.  They seemed as blank and hard as Faith's and his own.

Spiel had a damp handshake, and had to suppress a squeak of excitement when he saw Snape's ring.  Middle class, social climbing twit, just what was needed!

He was surprised to see Subnet, the man with the extra runes.  The man was ancient, and very, very important in the Ministry's research department.

Faith opened the conversation.

"I refuse to hand over any of my father's papers.  They were left to me on his death.  I have a copy of his will here," she opened a file and drew out a scroll of parchment, "and it makes very clear that all his properties and effects were left to me to do with entirely as I see fit."

Longbow's small eyes narrowed.

"You wish the Wizarding community to be powerless against torture by Voldemort's followers Miss. Llewllyn?"  

Snape was sure her eyes flicked to him as she said that.

Dumbledore sat up and said quietly,

"She does not Mrs. Longbow.  And do I need to remind you that Faith was recently seriously wounded in a ministry raid.  She was also first attacked by the Death Eaters when she was five years old, her mother died to save her.  She does not support them."

Faith smiled nastily.

"I didn't get a fancy scar though."

Snape shot her an amused look and started his prepared speech.  He went through all the many reasons Rhys's research was invalid, all the many people who had said it couldn't work, and his own calculations.  He noticed that Spiel was hanging on his every word and gave the man a condescending smile. 

When he finished Longbow hissed,

"I think the Ministry had more right to judge that than you, Professor Snape."

"I think not."  Snape replied  "I have achieved the highest possible level of qualifications, and was apprentice to one of the most important Potion Masters of our time.  I have numerous works published and many years practical experience in working with counter-curse solutions.  The ministry, regrettably, has few to match me."

Dumbledore nodded his agreement.

Spiel picked up Dumbledore's nodding and said,

"I quite agree.  Lorraine, Sir, is there really any point?"

"There is none."  Faith's voice.  "Because I will not let you have the papers."

Longbow shrugged.

"You must.  Official Ministry permission."

Faith smiled again.  And Snape knew that smile, it was the smile generally used by someone just before they lay down the ace, or just before they tear your arguments to shreds, or just before they cast the curse that you thought you were safe from.  That smile was the last thing a lot of people ever saw.

He had never realised how fucking sexy it was before though.  His mouth went dry and he shivered in desire.

"Oh no, Mrs Longbow, I don't have to.

"I have here a piece of paper detailing the special powers the Aurors have been granted in these troubled times.  I've highlighted the bits that relate to seizure of property.  As you may notice, it only, only, relates to people suspected of being Death Eaters and items that may be used as evidence."

Snape realised that, along with feeling more aroused by every acid word she spoke, he was feeling extremely proud of her.  He had the urge to cheer.

"I have also looked up the laws relating to when the Ministry can override the laws we have.  As you seizing these notes on behalf of the Ministry would be illegal, I feel it's relevant."  

She delicately produced another piece of highlighted paper.

"Yes, here we are.  I'll read it shall I?  'To override, remove or in anyway alter the existing laws, the Minister must carry two thirds of the votes from the Ministry Elect.'"

Faith smiled again.

"There has been no such vote."

Longbow leapt up.

"You can resist the curse!  Think, of the good, the good it would do…!"

"Any means to an end?  I don't think so."

Faith stood up and looked imperiously around the room.

"This meeting is at a close."

It was a voice descended from people who would order others to war, who made a command and had it obeyed.  Snape smiled as the room descended into chaos.  Longbow had turned to Subnet and was arguing with him frantically, but the old man was shaking his head at her.  Spiel was crouching in his chair and looking terrified.  Dumbledore was staring at the ceiling and humming, and Snape and Faith just stared at each other and smiled.

Subnet pushed his colleagues out of the room, Spiel pumping Snape's hand enthusiastically.  He then turned to Faith.

"Miss. Llewllyn?"

"Yes Mr. Subnet?"

"I knew your Grandfather, and your Father.  You resemble the former a great deal.  You are however several thousand miles above your Father.  Your Grandfather, had he lived, would have been more proud of you than you would believe.  He despised his son however."

And one of the most important wizards at the ministry held out his hand to a degenerate, upper class whore.  Faith took it and shook hard.  

"Thank you Sir."

"Miss.  Llewllyn it's an honour to have met you.  You too Professor Snape.  Albus, a pleasure as always."

Then he left.  Dumbledore squeezed her shoulder again.

"If I'd known he was coming I wouldn't have let you worry for a  moment.  I'm proud of you Faith.  I'll see them out, then come back."

Snape and Faith were left alone and stared at each other.  Then Faith started laughing, ran across  the room, and to Snape's amazement threw her arms around his neck.

"I'll beat the bastard yet!  I'll beat him one day!"

He merely nodded and relished the feel of her soft body pressed up against his, but she stepped out his arms laughing.  He wished he could grasp her presence to him for one more moment, but settled on watching her shining face.

"I've got something to show you.  I haven't told anyone yet."

She opened the window wide and to Snape's astonishment sat on the sill.  

"Faith?  Faith what are you doing?"

She just laughed in response, and the air shimmered and she changed…

Perched on the sill was a hawk.  A red kite, a large beautiful bird with gleaming red feathers.  It turned and gave him a look that was so completely, well, Faith, he had to laugh as well, and she spread her wings and leapt!

He ran to the window as she seemed to drop, but then she found her balance and soared through the sky, crying defiantly at the people walking across the grass far below.

Snape watched her till Dumbledore returned.  A beautiful bird, sweeping and diving and free.  Sometimes a speck in the sky, and sometimes swooping close.

Free.    


End file.
